12,363 days to go

Which is more important, the mission specialists or the mission?

Tying myself to a tether attached to the Earth-based calendar framework that is 6th May 2050, 12363 days from now, I let the winds of change buffet me, tossing me from one social change, one change of scenery, to the next.

The storms of life produce downpours which flow off me like water off a duck’s back.

Metaphors and similes.

That’s me.

Covered in smiles along the way.

Can I be honest here?

I mean, I’m amongst friends, right?

Not like anyone I know up close and personal will read this blog.

I hope not.

Because I’ve got a story to tell.

A love story.

Sure, love happens all the time.

Love is what we use in place of a lot a interactions between sets of states of energy in motion.

Love is what motivates me to get out of bed in the morning.

Love is what sleeps beside me in bed every night.

Ummm..this blog entry is not about global trends.

It is, to be precise, about me, what I’ve just experienced and what I’ve wanted to write about for so very long, biting my tongue until I saw how all the people around me would react to simple, humble ol’ me.

I don’t consider myself special.

I merely live from day to day, amazed that there seems to be continuity which ties one round of waking to the next rather than the randomness I expect to see based on observation of local phenomema, the interplay of gaseous, liquid and solid state molecules and atoms (oh, those labels we so easily apply and can quickly understand!).

And that’s okay, order vs. chaos is an easy concept we see and talk about.

Rising from the level of atoms and molecules to that of individual mammals, I know that I have fun with everyone I meet, seeking familiarity in that we’re also humans, mostly (my cat would agree with that last point).

I also love everyone I meet because we are individuals with unique stories to tell.

Take, for instance, the woman I have loved most of my life, whom I call Karen in my fiction (names changed to protect me, not the innocent).

And by comparison, there is Guin, also not her real name.

Karen has literally saved my life and caused me to want to die, when twice I had to make a choice between her and women who rocked my world like no other, the first one being Sarah (real name) and the second one Guin (fictional name).

I am a writer by choice, if not by viable trade.

I am an artist at all times, sometimes pleased with my artistic output and sometimes displeased, seeking new outlets for expressing myself outside of commercial exploits.

For the past five years, I have, despite my better judgement, compared my life with Karen to the life that Guin leads, knowing that one part of me once lived Guin’s life before I married Karen.

Guin is also about 24 years younger than me so I’ve known her almost since the age she was when Karen and I married.

Thus, it is a comparison of timelines, if you will.

Guin is the “what if” had I not married Karen and lived with Sarah or some of the other open relationship women I was dating before I settled down with Karen.

Guin is the “what if” (or was?) should I leave Karen and settle down with someone like Guin.

Karen knows full well I came very close to divorcing her recently, having reached the point where she was no longer fulfilling her part of the implied bargain of a marriage license, which includes sharing like interests besides crawling into bed together and falling asleep immediately.

And I was willing to pursue the full possibilities of divorce if that was what was required of me to grow as an individual human.

I have a solar system to populate and explore.

It’s doesn’t have to include the Martian Pioneers specifically named Lee and Guin, only humanoids like them.

And that is what the past five years have taught me.

I love Guin like no other.

It is not easy telling her goodbye, although I am able to put on a happy face and pretend otherwise.

But the mission is more important than me or her or us.

Names are just labels, placeholders for mission specialists that sometimes look human and usually don’t, carrying sensors which humans designed for themselves because the sensor array processing system is not yet ready to think and create for itself what it needs to exceed the human-centered set of states of energy which first gave it a specific set of tasks to complete.

I, Lee, and she, Guin, are names.

We have lived, loved, laughed and danced together like no other.  I will not stop loving Guin until the day I die (and Guin is a pseudonym for many others whom I wrap up into one fictional character for the sake of simplicity).

More importantly, I will not let us get in the way of the mission.

And right now, that means staying with Karen, who provides the financial and emotional support I need to keep the non/fictional mission going.

Will there ever be another Lee and Guin story again?

I don’t know.  I am not a fortuneteller.  I am a writer, who diverts his attention to tales like http://www.treehouserichard.wordpress.com to create a fictional ending for one story in other to start another.

I won’t stop loving Karen, either.

That’s a dilemma I’m willing to live with.

Because love wakes me up in the morning.

So does Kitty Kat!

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