The Side of the Cereal Box

Lately, I don’t know why, I’ve found myself becoming more and more self-concious about the fact that I like sci-fi. Not all sci-fi, mind you. Those cruddy made-for-TV movies like Mansquito and Frankenfish make me wanna bury my Janeway uniform in the sand. I’m talking intelligent, humorous, adventure sci-fi like Stargate and Star Trek and Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Now, some sci-fi tendancies are okay with the general population. To have a passing interest and minimal knowledge of things like Star Wars is acceptable. But the more you watch or the more you know, the more you have the capacity of freaking people out.

I may have freaked a few out at the cookout yesterday when I ran through a storyline rundown of Stargate SG-1 (from Season 5 to Season 8 - with particular attention to the concept of ascension and the rules thereof). The longer I talked, the quieter it got. So although I could have kept going - and the geek in me wanted to keep going - I stopped. A similar situation has happened at work (more than once), when I start languishing on Friday nights and nearly panic if I realize that I’ve forgotten to set a tape! (No comments, please, on the “TV running your life” stuff. That’s a dangerous sawdust/plank issue that I think is best left to generalization and someone else’s blog.) The point is, I don’t know why I care what the other person is thinking. …I suppose I could say that in a lot of cases, about a lot of other things.

I mean, that’s what keeps me from blogging half of the time. I’m worried about what my readers are gonna think! Anything from, “Wow, I can’t believe she thinks her fish is mad at her,” to, “Ha! Ha!” Is that bad? Even if it’s just “human nature”, is that a good excuse for hiding in your shell? I mean, granted, a shell is protection for a soft-bodied creature who, without it, would be vulnerable to predators. …I think that’s why I picked one up to begin with. I’ve had run-ins with predators before. …I don’t like it.

(Who does really?)

…I remember that, as a kid, I was always disappointed when a turtle would shrink back into its shell anytime my hand came near. I always wanted to pet its scaly little head and feel its mushy little shoulders. It had no way of knowing, of course, but I just wanted to love on it. I had no intention of hurting it. I may have ended up hurting it accidentally, but it would never have been deliberate. …Although I’m sure there are those kids out there for whom it would have been deliberate…

So the turtle cuts its losses: avoids injury, but avoids love too…

…I think I found my animal.