If you are reading this column, well, welcome to my club.
You either were left off the E-vite for the Rapture, like me, or got conned by some preacher who promised that the End Times were about to begin.
Either way, we both have to go to work come Monday.
The preacher, Harold Camping, predicted that on Saturday good Christians would be sucked up to heaven by a giant Dyson vacuum (I think even God believes things should work "properly") and that the undead would arise from their graves and wander the earth, behaving rather poorly.
Camping had singled out dates for the Rapture before, and when it didn't happen, he said his addition had been wrong. Math can bedevil even the Righteous, you know.
By Friday, however, I was starting to think Camping was right. Neon billboards around town flashed news of the Rapture and an airplane towed a banner heralding the same, and giving the address for Camping's website so terrified old ladies would send him their pension checks.
Then a homophobe headbanger named Bradlee Dean got up on the podium of the Minnesota Legislature in a track suit and destroyed decades of decorum and nonpartisanship with a loopy, meandering "prayer" that slammed our president.
Everyone was so outraged that Republicans hit the "reset" button and literally erased the event from the legislative record.