It is
Here is an issue that has haunted me recently. Are astronauts heroes? The other day I was thinking upon heroes and what goes into the idea of being one. Why I do not know but I was. I then thought about astronauts and how everyone regards them as such. I wondered if they really were heroes and after much mental anguish I decided that they are definitely not heroes. Not anymore anyways. I mean think about it, we send people into space every other Friday, its' like payday. Is this really heroic anymore? Now the original men in space, the pioneers, and the chimp we sent up, they were certainly heroic. They risked themselves in unexplored regions with relying on equipment that my pocket calculator is more powerful then. The men on the moon, they were certainly hero’s as well. But modern astronauts? They are everywhere, they visit schools, are on TV, you can’t get away from them. That being said, the men and women who died in the two shuttle explosions would be exceptions and I mean them no ill will, but as for the rest? I think they're just trying to use their status to get laid. I mean heroes vanquish evil, they cast powerful rings into the only mountain that can destroy them, or they have claws that come out of their wrists and other mutant powers. Or sometimes they storm the beaches at
Think about it this way. Who views astronauts as heroes? Children. Do their opinions really count? I mean children view Jedi, (or in my case the Sith) Cowboys, and Pirates as hero’s too. But when you get older, are they still heroes? Who cares about cowboys? Around here we make fun of them. So why are astronauts still considered so great? And for the final nail in the coffin consider this. Not only has the
Great Moments in OCD History: So I am working the closing shift at work, we are running behind due to a last minute rush of people but we finally close. Then the dreaded words that strike fear into my inner core are issued. “Hey Jeff, could you clean the bathrooms? And try and hurry because we are behind schedule.” Something inside of me vomits black bile into the chasm of my soul. None the less, I had cleaned them before and in theory, the more I do it the easier it is supposed to get. (A form of exposure therapy, albeit extreme.) So I smile and lie, “Sure no problem.” And I grind my teeth and set out upon my fate.
It should be duly noted that in order to properly clean the restrooms while not setting off OCD to much, it requires time to carefully do so. I did not have time and was trying to hurry and overcome all this anxiety. I spray junk on the toilet and scrub it with the brush, up and down a few times. Then on the up motion, that is when it happened. I have dubbed it the toothbrush affect, the wet bristles being pulled against something and splattering out on things nearby. Only the nearby object it splattered on was my face. Time froze, an atomic bomb went off in my stomach, I got hot and panicky. What was I to do? Scrubbed toilet water on my face!?!? The boy with OCD! I cannot possibly begin to describe the horror it caused. I was almost paralyzed. To make matters worse, we were trying to hurry so I didn’t get to stop and wash it off an appropriate matter for at least twenty minutes. It was a nightmare. Later I poured sanitizer on my face, wiped down with alcohol swabs and took a shower. I would have scrubbed my face with comet and bleach if I didn’t think it would blind me. I even considered shaving my goatee, since some of the water hit it. That was a few days ago and I am still waiting for the Aids, or Hepatitis A, B and C to set in.
Well, see you later.
