Ghost of a flea

This morning, as I was riding the bus to work, I thought of all that I had to be grateful for thanks to the strange and wondrous genius of George Walton Lucas. Could it be that my very life was a gift from George? As I realized how he had touched me, I wept loudly, ignoring the stares and words of derision from my fellow commuters.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sobbed like a girl--as I felt the pure joy of what he had given. The feeling stayed with me through the long day. My supervisor suggested emergency trauma therapy. He thought I was in the midst of an hysterical fit, or that I had perhaps gone insane.

If you are reading these words, you too have probably been moved as I was moved. However, my admiration and love for George Lucas is better than yours. It's something different, something golden, and sometimes I can't stand how people like you think.