Lost In Space

I dreamed I was Will Robinson from the 1960s show Lost in Space. In this dream I wasn’t lost in space. I knew precisely where I was—floating in space, around Mars’s larger moon, Phobos. 

Why? Somehow I’d been ejected from my spaceship and was desperately attempting to navigate my way to the moon’s surface. Had my ship been hit by phasers or a photon torpedo? Possibly.

Phobos, by the by, doesn’t have an atmosphere so why was there an urgency to touch down? Dunno. Maybe I just feel better, more secure with solid ground under my feet.

Just FYI:

Phobos is on a collision course with Mars. It's nearing Mars at a rate of six feet (1.8 meters) every hundred years. At that rate, the moon will either crash into Mars in 50 million years or break up into a ring.

50 million years is a long time. I could, conceivably, safely visit BUT:

Measurements of the day and night sides of Phobos show such extreme temperature variations that the sunlit side of the moon rivals a pleasant winter day in Chicago, while only a few kilometers away, on the dark side of the moon, the climate is more harsh than a night in Antarctica.  (source)

Even if Phobos had an atmosphere, which it doesn't, it wouldn’t be especially hospitable. Unless, of course, you’re keen on cold, windy weather. I’m not. Plus there aren’t any forests, no oceans (not even a nice lake!) and I bet they don’t have cats.

Mars, Roman god of war,
from a fresco in Pompeii

Phobos and Demos (the other smaller moon of Mars), just so you know, are the sons of Ares who is the Greek version of the Roman god, Mars. For the sake of naming consistency, why weren’t the moons called Romulus and Remus—the Roman son’s names? Did Asaph Hall, who discovered and named the moons, fear that Romulus and Remus’s names were too infamous and skeevy. After all, when I think “Phobos and Demos,” tales of raped Vestal Virgins, twin newborns abandoned to die, and fratricide don’t immediately come to mind. Maybe that’s just me?

Another maybe this is just me but, Romulus killing Remus puts Cain and Abel in mind. WHO originally wrote these violent, bloody origin stories? I mean, it’s not like Herodotus or Tacitus were on site taking notes.

Back to my dream though—why was I Billy Mumy and what the fuck was I doing in Mars’s orbit? Maybe the dream was all about me feeling lost in my Nf2 space—this constant shuttling between surgeries, procedures and recoveries? I should probably explore that concept. Possibly I’m struggling with having to deal with tedious and annoying adult bullshit. Such as? 

• Having to reapply for my supplemental health insurance.
• I still haven’t submitted my taxes for ’23.
• My passport expired a few years ago and I still haven’t sent off the renewal paperwork.
• The tiled shower walls need a good, thorough scrubbing and I need to get on it.

Tedious, tedious and more of that tedious adulting shit.

Perhaps it just feels less complicated and annoying to be shot out of a space shuttle. Trying to propel myself to the surface of Phobos somehow feels less complicated than taxes and health insurance applications?

The answer is yes.