Failing My Doctorate.

I need to stop liking and disliking things. When you’re an alien being from some nameless planet in another dimension, liking and disliking things isn’t what you’re supposed to do. What you’re supposed to do is observe and apply reason and make notes on your way to earning a PhD from the University of Somewhere Nameless in Another Dimension.

The problem with all this comes down to the matter of emotion. I freely admit that I have an emotional age of around 5½ (coincidentally – or probably not – 5½ is just about exactly the age I was when the balloon went up in my house.) My body developed just fine, my mind even better, but my emotional component got stuck before I was old enough to buy my own ice creams.

So when I observe the workings of homo sapiens I sometimes get quite joyful, and I sometimes get very sad, and I sometimes become so angry that I want to grab a bullwhip and drive the whole bloody lot of them into one corner of Africa with dunce's caps on their head and restrict their diet to stale bread and polluted water until they come to their senses. And that’s not good.

It’s why, for example, I need to learn that Mr Trump is not a brainless, juvenile, self-centred dork who needs a long spell in detention, but merely an object of study. I’ll try; I will. And maybe I need to start spending more time talking to people and less talking to trees, my car, my concrete garden bear, and the planet Venus.

Then again, it could be that I need to give up on the present course of study and start over. Maybe next year.