That could well be the case, although I find I matter just as much now as I did when I considered myself to be a premie, but then by the time I realised that the thing was a con, it had shrunk to become only a very small component of my psyche. That wasn't so in the '70's, which I remember as a time of more or less permanent mental confusion which manifested itself in a rather charmless outer smugness laid over a murky swamp of guilt & fear.

Being one of the chosen ones is too much like hard work in many respects. Either it drives you to the brink of madness or you just have to put it into a special little box in your mind,marked 'do not look too closely'. What gets me about the likes of reporter/jonx is their cast iron constitutions. I find it difficult to imagine the depth of emotional committment they must have, to be able to argue so closely that the moon is made of cheese.