I've never actually been diagnosed as on the autism spectrum.
But I reckon I must have got a touch of it.
I love people ... but they drain my batteries quickly.
I think that's the definition of an introvert.
I like solitude -- lots of it.
After time spent with friends I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with my beloved ... computer.
The most beautiful thing in the world is a warm night with a clear sky.
Or a cold night with a clear sky. As long as there are stars.
Lying on your back under a dark sky is terrifying, mystifying, exhilarating.
I have recurring dreams of falling into that endless blackness, among the friendly stars.
I've been in love with stars for more than forty years. They are as individual as people.
Tonight I see Orion the Hunter marching across the rooftops, as he does every year at this time.
His right knee is a monster, two dozen times more massive than our Sun and a quarter of a million times brighter.
His left shoulder is a glutton, in the mode of Erysichthon of Thessaly who purportedly ate
himself. Compared to our Sun this star is 500 times younger and 500 times larger. It has already consumed itself in a great act of autophagy, on its way to an early grave. It will go out with a mighty bang any day now and, when it does, any inhabited planet within a thousand trillion miles will be sterilised of all life by the blast. We're fortunate enough to be outside the kill zone, but close enough to get a ringside view.
Those are just two of the
two hundred billion stars in our galaxy.
Surely no subject could be more fascinating?
That's why I once ran an office poll along the lines of:
How much of your day do you spend contemplating "life, the universe and everything" versus "other stuff".
Best/worst answer (this is not a joke):
"I spend most of the time wondering if I have enough make-up to get me through the day".
This made me realise I might be a little out of touch.
But, then, I
knew that.