Since childhood, I’ve been—pardon the expression—fascinated with Mr. Spock.

Indeed, Star Trek was one of the first, well, everything, I was exposed to. I recall watching the reruns with my cousin Mark while my Aunt Margie babysat me. I recall my first exposure to the wonders of VCR at my Uncle Kerry’s... and his collection of most (all?) episodes of Star Trek on VHS. I recall setting my VCR to capture Star Trek off of local television while I was in high school—effectively acquiring my own collection of every episode.

Everything about the show was cool. The optimistic and utopic future. Captain Kirk’s suaveness. And so many lovely ladies.

Then, there was Mr. Spock. Half-Vulcan. Each half at war with the other. Struggling with his emotions. His desires. And with logic. Logic always prevailed.

As a teen with raging hormones, I opted to err towards logic as well. Fuck emotions. And pain.

Pain is a thing of the mind. The mind can be controlled.

Fast forward to now. This battle still rages within me. By choosing logic, I tend to spend most waking time in my head. Awareness, is there, yet I miss subtle nuances. I fail to let my passions get the better of me.

Usually with the fairer sex.

And to think I thought I was cool by not succumbing to so many desires. Oh, what a fool I’ve been.

For women are lovely. And women love sex. And passion. And desire. And whenever any of these things rear their head (pun intended), “logic” kicks in, and next thing I know I’m evaluating the pros and cons, and asking all of the “why would she...?” questions.

And like Spock (in most of the scenarios), I am alone. And mostly content with being alone.

However, once in a while some passion with a lovely young lady would be nice.