The following is an obvious attempt to justify my rubbernecking.

Surely I’m not the only one whose sympathies are going out to this onetime astronaut, wife, and mother of three whose recent dalliance with buck knives, pepper spray and diapers are now world news. I’ve done some crazy things because of love, things I’m ashamed to confess here, and I rather expect that most anyone reading these words has too. On some level we can all relate to her psychosis, however temporary or fixed it may be.

Not to say that her attempted crimes against Colleen Shipman, perceived love interest of Nowak’s own, William Oefelein, are necessarily dismissible or forgiveable, but they are, perhaps, understandable; love is the big crazy.

I admit that I’m fascinated by this story. As much as I generally hate cult of personality media obsessions and the ongoing soap operas of Hollywood elite (Brangelina, Britney, Paris, Lindsey, etc can all take a frickin’ walk), this story has me unapologetic for my interest. The celeb crew set themselves up to be the center of attention, and if there is any bona fide personal drama as opposed to the manufactured news items, there is the silver lining of ‘no such thing as bad press’ working for them. I find their stories an utter bore—please spare me, Perez.

However, Nowak’s story is a different matter. She’s been on the International Space Station, but how back down to earth she has fallen. The fact that this immensely capable woman with spectacular achievements to her name has come to this is a watershed event in human drama. I’m glad nobody got hurt, and glad she is receiving help along with the global infamy her actions have won her, but it sucks that her kids and other innocents in the matter will be forever affected by her disgrace. How timely this story—so close to V-Day, so high the drama. I can’t help it, I’m hooked.