Firstborn and his Little Brother informed me in no uncertain terms that neither of them, their wives, their progeny, or their dogs, wanted to inherit my Star Trek collection. They urged me to sell it on eBay post haste. I suspected their need for speed was fueled by their fear that I might meet an untimely end before unloading the collection, and then they would be tasked to do so following my demise.

I could hardly blame them, understanding mother that I am. I dreaded selling the collection myself. So, I did what I usually do under similar circumstances. I procrastinated, and procrastinated again, and again, and again.

I shouldn’t have. The second ST: TNG feature film was much better than the first. Actually, it was pretty good. It made me feel I was too hasty in abandoning the Trek universe. Guilt gripped me, along with its close friend misguided loyalty. I decided to hang onto the collection.

Wrong. The next ST: TNG film was so-so. The fourth and last was a creative and box-office disaster that all but slaughtered Paramount’s Star Trek cash cow. I packed my collection in a huge carton, determined to find it a new home. I would have done so, but I couldn’t seem to find the time to do that and write. Writing won out.

Not long afterward, a series of unforeseen obstacles hindered my resolve to end my Star Trek obsession and dispose of the collection that had become my personal albatross.

First, a cousin surprised me with the gift of a Star Trek collector plate depicting a scene from the “Amok Time” second season episode in which Kirk and Spock engaged in pon farr mortal combat. Drat. I had hoped to offer him my collection, but it seemed my cousin decided to rid himself of his collection, did not equivocate as I did, and he beat me to the draw. Double drat. That presented me with one more item to hoard. I hadn’t started, and I was already losing ground. Triple drat.

Next, I began watching the hilarious Big Bang Theory. Every other line of nerdy dialog seemed to contain the words Star Trek or Mr. Spock. How could I turn my back on Star Trek with that weekly reminder? The hysterically funny “Tiny Spock” episode really got to me because I adored Mr. Spock. (I adored Captain Kirk too. I never said I wasn’t fickle.) Big Bang Theory made me realize I wasn’t ready to part with my collection. Auctioning it off on eBay would have to wait a while longer.

Then I began following George Takei on Facebook. Oh, my-y-y. Here we go again.

Two new Star Trek films that reinvented the Trek universe burst onto the scene and captured my imagination. Rats! Hooked again.

When I was forced to declutter my home office not long ago, I found William Shatner’s autograph. It was more than a signature on a scrap of paper. The Shat touched that scrap of paper. It might even contain his younger self’s DNA. ::sigh, drool:: I was overwhelmed by nostalgia, and not a little lust for his younger self, so I boldly went ahead and framed it.

Recently, one of Macho Guy’s nephews—a young writer I mentor—thanked me for my support by giving me a Tribble. You know, one of those little fur balls from “The Trouble With Tribbles” episode. Yes, I have my very own Tribble, dang it. The Tribble joined The Shat’s framed autograph on a shelf in my office right above my desk.

That was the tipping point, the point at which I surrendered and acknowledged that I am powerless over the lure of Star Trek. Resistance is futile. Unless someone out there saves me from myself by taking my collection off my hands, I may never be free of Star Trek’s hold on me. It’s kind of like being in a Star Trek mafia. Once you’re in, they don’t let you out. Ever. That is, not until you join The Great Bird of the Galaxy among the stars.

I believe Michael Corleone said it best in Godfather III: “Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in.”

You and me both, Michael. You and me both.