When rejection is good.
Man, the weird and whacky things you think about when you’re vacuuming.
It’s how I learned to read.
First it was comic books, later the Asimov Foundation trilogy. I used to stare up at the night sky looking for space ships, wishing I could travel among the stars, asking the universe, “Why won’t the aliens come and take me away?”
At this time in my life, I compare those days to the scene from the Addams family movie where Wednesday is at a girls camp. They’re learning lifesaving skills.
The instructor asks, “Who wants to be the victim.”
One of the girls eagerly says, “I’ll be the victim!”
Wednesday looks at her and says, “All your life.”
In my case, the instructor would be asking, “Who wants to be the reject.”
The aliens would all point to me.
Reading about and listening to the people who say they’ve been abducted, it’s apparent that the aliens were doing me a favor. Enemas are bad enough, but anal probes? NSA spying is bad enough, but implants? Sadistic bastards.
There are times when being a reject is good and I’m just as happy that my foray into the universe will continue to reside in my imagination.