astro-nuts

An astronaut has been charged with attempted murder. She was stuck in a love triangle and trying to kidnap and kill her way out the news alledges. My coworker just called me over to her computer to see the photos of the convicted woman. One the left (taken less than 2 years ago) she smiles with outdated bangs, clear skin, and the signature orange NASA jumpsuit we've all admired since grade school. On the right, in the mug shot, she looks sallow and shrunken. "Like a meth addict" my officemate says. I remember being told about the rigorous tests and trails it took to become an astronaut--beyond surgeons, beyond firemen, astronauts were a league of their own. They wanted to be sure those men and women could take the mental strain of life in space. Most people didn't even make it, but this woman had! My mouth was hanging open.

Clearly, based on the news frenzy, I'm not the only one who feels this way. In a bizarre way it's terrifying and reassuring at the same time. I mean, even a woman who's been given the NASA seal of sanity can lose it over love. Clearly, passion is powerful stuff. There she was, haggard and guilty-looking. You can't help but wonder, what hope do we mere earth-dwellers have?

I can almost imagine what she feels like. Well, maybe not the stocking up on garbage bags, duct tape and rubber tubing part, but the anxiety, desperation, and depression that are the underbelly of passion. I look at the dark eyes in the mug shot and I can't help but feel empathy. Not so much for what she's done, but for where she might be in 9 months when the shadow lifts and she has that crucial realization all jilted lovers have had: "there are millions of other men in the world..." It's a life-saving epiphany. I'm afraid, though, this astronaut may be wearing an orange jumpsuit when she has it--and not the NASA issue kind.