To be in love with some one who is technically dead.

I am delighted by the brain’s capacity to create realities that are technically non-existent.  Amazed really,  by the mind’s insistence that mere facts should never ruin one’s custom tailored truth.

I am delighted and amazed because I am in the habit of pretending that Issac Asimov is alive and well and any day now he will realize that I was always the prime love of his life. He will realize this and come to me, begging for a date, which will, of course, happen because we are not letting the technicalities like my marital status ruin this glorious reality.

Observe that I say reality, not imagination.

Imagination, my friends,  is for squares. True Believers are not squares, they are non linear, like space and time and they revel in the existence of alternate realities and parallel universes.

Lewis Carrol is dead, long live Quantum Mechanics.