Calm in the spaceship. An existential exhaustion is collapsing my shields. It’s best to remain flightless for now. The countdown is expected to resume in the morning. Tonight’s goal is sleep. Plenty of it.
The cats are happily enjoying the cooling of the life support systems. They are in the storage bay checking the space suits and kibble.
Grounded and untethered, I find quiet. Seeking a consultation with god. My own inner compass. The work on the exterior systems is done for the night. The sodium lights illuminating the crater and cracked ship’s hull, give everything a mystical aura. Orange light, like the glow of some interstellar fire within the molecules of air, cooling as dusk overtakes the long, busy day.
I did not get the cybersecurity work done. I had promised my employer. We will deal with his frustrations in the morning. I’m not up for an analytical puzzle right now. I need to turn up the O2, turn down the temperature for the sleep quarters and inform the crew of my retirement.
Which reminds me, an envelope arrived today. My retirement package. I am not going to open it tonight. Too peaceful for bad news. Too serene for a new adventure of pursuit. Pause. Ponder. Rest.
She is not escaping just yet. I am improving my own restraints, emotional ones. I can be calm when I stay focused. A can tap into neuroswizzles at will. I can have both. Extreme inner joy, calm outer shell. I want to remind myself of the truth:
There is no hurry.
I have all the time I need.
If god is at the helm, who am I to second-guess an actress in a local production on a Saturday night in May? Who am I, anyway? As Dick and Jane, my AI companions would say, “That is the million-dollar question.” They fall back on a lot of cliches when they run out of time or tokens.
I want a new adventure. I also know I am not at my best tonight. I am exhausted. The deep massage has released debris into my bloodstream. That 3rd fluid system of fascia. Eastern medicine has known about it for thousands of years. Physical massage is actually part of a hyper-repair process, like professional athletes. Massage all the time. Stretch. Train. Play. Massage. Stretch. Rest.
American science is making the discovery now. There is a third circulatory system. It’s a fascinating story; you can Google or Plex-it. Something about a tattoo removal process revealing the ink traveling through this third system, and voila!
As the darkness is descending on my day, she is speaking beautifully about love, betrayal, and fear. I am speaking of the same things from here, my downed rocket ship. There’s a light. She is not it. I am it.
We have to light our own pilot lights. We can fly and navigate alone. Cats pick up some of the slack. I can do it. I can be blissful and happy alone. I cannot see the face of god in the eyes of a woman in bliss, if there is no woman.
For now… I am alone. Enough. Powering down my mind. Still holding her proverbial hand and giving her roses for her excellent performance tonight. In my mind.
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