That is not it, at all

It has been several weeks, gentle reader. My other non-doer activities have kept me from the keyboard, but here we go again. And we go with gusto. So. I watched the apocalyptic film 2012 tonight. It's a Monday, in case you're keeping score at home. I always wanted to know what that pit of dread and (hopefully) human redemption feels like on a Monday. Much different from a Friday or Saturday. Tangier. Anyway, I was just considering that if my own ship were going down, which high theories of existence I would cling to for comfort and guidance... and which I would discard like so much flotsam. Would I turn to Carraway's boats and currents; or Hamlet's slings and arrows; or Underground Man's heroes and mud; or Candide's garden? Would I give a rip about any of it? Chances are I would simply grab my family into a suffocating bear hug and not let go. But even that is uncertain. I mean, really, who knows what the heck I would do if my toes were on the edge of the abyss. I think I would want clarity, though. I think I would want some black-and-whiteness about me. No time for gray in a moment like that, wouldn't you say, gentle reader? The term because would surely fall away into the abyss with everything else not yet nailed down. I would hope to be nailed down.