I recall, as a little pupa-staged child, sitting in class, gestating in a catholic-school-uniform-cocoon, still years prior to sprouting wings – listening to the teacher tell us the secrets of life and death and the thereafter. I remember daydreaming, wishing that when my time came, I could instantly graduate from Heaven-bound soul to earth-bound angel. Maybe assigned to look out for folks, whatever; the important thing was that I’d get to come back, not have to leave for Heaven. Oh, paradise seemed all right, after a fashion, but it just wasn’t as precarious, as imperfect, as…precious as earth. I guess, at a young age, I realized that perfect was boring, was without as much meaning, and that a perfect heaven was just a hell of another zip code.