I managed to contract a stomach bug from my dear wife this morning. I'm trying to figure out whether sitting with a blank expression and vacant thoughts is one of the symptoms, or if it's something I've developed on my own. I'm half-expecting some horrible consequence from my inaction. There is a high probability that Future Orion will barge out of a temporal portal to scold me and put me to work. For all I know, he already came today.
On the subject of time-traveling, I could also easily believe that some Orion from the Past will jump out of the hall closet and recoil in horror at what he will become. I paint the scene as he sees it: A dim room, with sunlight filtering through slats in the blinds, filled with clutter. The floor is covered with tarps and monstrous creations lay unmoving and half-finished on work tables. Two chairs in the corner: One holds a ball of sleeping fur. The other is filled with a long, skeletal figure tapping away on a keyboard. His eyes stare vacantly into a PC monitor. He's writing a blog. Oh God, no.
"Go back to your own time, lad. Stop this from happening. There is still a chance," I say as he backs away, hands covering his face in horror. He returns to the past and redoubles his efforts. Good boy.
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