For the last two days, I have been up around four in the morning. I put the covers back on my toddler(she wriggles free of blankets, just like her dad does), pop in a workout DVD, wash the sinkful of dishes, feed the dog, shower, do some work-related tasks. I am being more productive than I’ve been in months. What has prompted this sudden resurgence of Type A morning person zeal? Hmm…could it be…the Rapture?

M and I make it to Mass at least two Sundays out of the month. We say the Prayer of Jabez on the drive to Grandma’s. I recite the blessing over meals when I remember. M always says Amen. And loudly, too. She sings along with the children’s gospel CD her Nana loaned us. But we’re not exactly counting down the hours to the alleged Judgment Day happening tomorrow. Or am I?

I went from minister to unwed mommy. I don’t quite fit the criteria of the saved as preached by evangelists. No, those billboards on the 880 remind me that, if the Rapture is a reality, this particular liberal Catholic fag hag who’s lived in sin with her babydaddy for four years will likely be left behind. As I’ve joked with some of my students, I’ll be right here for the six months of end of the world madness.

I’ve always believed that I should live my life as if it could end at any moment. Sleep deprivation and work frustration often drains me of that strength of character. I may not be ready to say goodbye tomorrow. But I think I’m living again.