It was so calm, you could barely feel anything. I had to pinch myself to wake up them nerve endings. All those years of schooling, training, lobbying and brown-nosing, the draft had finally be called in. I had nearly choked on my Kellogs LowFat LowCholesterol cereals, milk streaming down the wrong end of my epiglottis. The envelope was in an unassuming old brown form affixed with a lousy Donald Trump stamp of 33 cents. Expecting an electricty bill and getting drafted to be paid to explore space were certainly a much more elevating experience than dipping your hand into non fat popcorn and finding your fingers smeared with filthy butter. The graveyard shift, they called it, I would be hanging in space waiting, watching...