Remembering my former life on Mars is always a bummer because being a Martian was so much nicer than being an Earthling. When I was from Mars I wasn't really little and green, you know. I was salmon-colored and stood 7 feet, 4 inches tall at age 75 (Earth Years), which is thirty-something by Earth standards. Martians didn't measure age in Martian years or any other years because we Martians lived in the present. For us, every day was today and every time was now.
However, I had expected to live to be 200 or more but when I was only 75 (Earth Years) Planet X (Nibiru) passed between Earth and Mars, destroying the planet Xerxes with its powerful gravitational pull and turning it into an asteroid belt. Nibiru's gravitational wake also caused such massive eruptions in the crust of our beautiful red, green and blue planet that the hot, molten core spewed out and evaporated our seas and rivers and lakes. When the steam finally cleared, there was only a trace of salt water flowing down the massive gorges that Earthlings call "canals". But they aren't "canals". They're breaches in our planet's crust caused by the transient proximity of the 10th planet Nibiru. Holes that tapped our molten core and turned Mars into a dusty red rock.
But I'm getting off the track, as usual. Whenever I can manage to remember myself as a seven-foot-four Martian who was still twenty years away from Martian mid-life, I usually get so mad that I'm currently this little "pink" man from Earth who's barely five-foot-eight, that I temporarily blow a fuse and forget what I'm doing. Hmmm. Now I remember.
It's bad enough that I'm an Earthling shrimp now instead of a towering Martian without having to be referred to as a "little green man from Mars". That's not my idea, as you are well aware. That's a stupid misconception of mid-20th Century Earthling thinking that Hollywood and the comic books made a bundle from by perpetuating that myth for payola. Crap, I'm getting off the track again.
OK. I'm getting back on track now. Yeah, it's bad enough that the Earthling vessel in which my immortal life essence currently dwells (a human being) is trying to parlay that "little green man" myth into mucho moola so he can buy recliners and ice cream and cigars and things like that for himself. But now the little opportunist has my "mythical" image inside a freaking moon. Yeah, instead of on Mars. Yeah. Now I'm some new kind of celestial body that only a disturbed mind could create. A "lunatoid" created by an independent lunatic. What's next?
Hell, I don't know which is worse. Being misrepresented by an ambitious lunatic for the comical amusement of blog readers or having your life activity reduced to being a moron from the moon who looks like he just loves to have his picture taken. Either way, I'm certainly no magnificent seven-foot-four Martian from the past anymore. Hell, I'd just rather be the little five-foot-eight indie author S. O. B. that I really am this time around. But, hell, no one seems to be happy with that scenario. So, I guess I'll just keep playing along for now.
Playing games for money sure beats the pants off wallowing in the past for nothing.