In 13 months and 13 days, the world will not come to an end. Long before then, the world will have had enough of this panic-for-profit Y2K business.

Survivalists, always more comfortable when doomsday breathes down their necks, head for the hills. Political activists shriek that time is running out for their agenda. Computer consultants warn of insurmountable problems that can, luckily, be surmounted with a consulting contract.

The problem, of course, is the Millennium Bug, the uncertainties about how computer systems that recognize only the last two digits of a year will handle what comes after Dec. 31, 1999. Expect a lot of nonsense between now and that dreaded midnight:

Aroostook County, like many rural regions, is seeing an influx of from-away doomsdayers, armed and deluded. A tip for the native (that is, sane) County residents: Jan. 1, 2000, would not a be a good time to pay an unannounced welcome call on the new neighbor.

The British American Security Information Council (BASIC), long an advocate of nuclear disarmament, sought to revive the anxiety of its Cold War heyday last week with a report predicting launches of nuclear missiles by berserk computers. Yes, BASIC conceeded, existing missile systems require the involvement of a human chain of command, but just imagine what could happen when sputtering computers meet up with raging hangovers.

And just the other day here in Maine, a small-business conference on Y2K had consultants teetering between helpful advice and projections of calamity. It’s under control, but better stock up a month’s worth of groceries. Sign that consulting contract, too.

In times such as these, it’s wise to talk to someone who is neither a lunatic or who has a cause or a service to sell. Like George Markowsky, a University of Maine professor of computer science.

Markowsky has two bits of advice. First, mind your own business. Make sure your own computer affairs are in order; be assured others are doing the same. Makers of date-sensitive software offer upgrades on the Web. Download it, and see for yourself that problems are likely to be more in the nature of glitches than catastrophes.

Second, get a grip. “Assume that people in business want to stay in business. It’s inconcievable that the food industry will be tied up for a month by computer problems. If any problems aren’t pretty well straightened out by the end of that first weekend (Jan. 1, 2000, is a Saturday), people will step in. It’s not as though Y2K will keep trucks from running.”

The same goes for power companies. “Remember, within two days of the ice storm, the storm of the century, most people had power back. Y2K might mean your first light bill could be off, but I we won’t be plunged into darkness. Computers haven’t taken total control. The human element is still there.”

In short, New Year’s Day 2000 is apt to look a lot like other New Year’s Days — lots of food, ample football, a bit of a headache. Not as sexy as taking potshots at the folks across the road or watching mushroom clouds on the horizon, but just about right after a late night. Besides, who’s got the cupboard space for a month’s worth of groceries?