Is life just a series of canceled space events? It feels like the more I try to schedule things, the more the universe laughs at my plans. Sort of like knowing you’re going to die alone, but every day is a surprise about how empty it will feel.
Imagine setting reminders for meteor showers and rocket launches, just so the universe can bail on you last minute. Let’s say, hypothetically, the Quadrantid meteor shower decided it won’t peak because it’s having an existential crisis. Can’t blame it—I get that.
And what if Earth, little attention-seeker that it is, got too shy to reach its perihelion and just… didn’t? It's like throwing a party and deciding you're not really in the mood to show up. Also, let's not even get started on that comet that might burn brightly or just burn out entirely – a mood, honestly!
By the way, if you were hoping to catch a glimpse of Mars sneaking behind the moon, too bad. It heard you were watching and got performance anxiety.
And those twin lunar landers, Firefly and Ispace? They might not even leave their garage. It’s like planning to leave the house, then realizing your existential dread weighs more than your spacecraft.
So, next time you’re looking at NASA’s or SpaceX’s “planned” schedules, maybe just use it as kindling for your fireplace. It’s all going up in flames anyway, much like my desire to exist.
Speaking of existence, ending it with a morbid joke: What do you and a failed rocket launch have in common? You both don’t get off the ground.
Based on the original article "Sync Your Calendar With the Solar System".
