I want to be your Houston.
I want to be your Ground Control. When you’re spinning in space, you’re over your head, you’ve exhausted formal procedures, you’ve checked all your checks, you’re in new territory, you’re wondering if the pills will dissolve. When you know there’s no way back, I want to be the one you call and say:
“Houston, we have a problem.”
Figuratively, of course. If you really are in a spaceship hurtling towards the moon and you have some kind of electrical system failure, I’m not the best person to call. Talk to an engineer. I’ll ask you questions about hurricanes. Do they look like giant faces from where you are?
I’ll ask you what you dream about in space.