Chewed-Thumb Unlaunched Astronaut

So my computer fan (or should I say, one of my computer's fan...  Yes, I have two fans in one computer), has been intermittently making terrible, grindy noises that repair and retire from a good foot-thump to the computer's case.  Temporarily at least.  Anyway, the foot-thump isn't working as consistently these last few days, so as constant adventurer and doer-of-things-needed-done, I crawled under my own desk where the tower lurks and popped it open to see what was going on.  The fan rattles.  Check.  How to fix it?  I still have no idea.

After serious diagnostics, wiping the sweat away from my brow and resting on my back, I looked up to see the words

chewed-thumb
unlaunched
astronaut

written on the underside of my desk.

It's clearly in my own hand with block letters, written with a Sharpie pen on the unlaminated side of my cheap desk.  I have no idea when I would have written that.  But I know why.

I wrote it to surprise myself.  And I did.  Go me.

Long ago, in years that didn't start with composite numbers, photos were taken of a friend and me pretending to be astronauts.  They are excellent photos.  I wish you could see them.  Anyway, I know laying on my back after working on my computer's tower for a while might make me think of those photos (having been taken in similar fashion) and so, with mischief in mind, I might write those very words for myself when thinking the same things the next time I have a chance to do so.

Chewed-thumb?  Still to this day.
Unlaunched?  Absolutely.  Look at me.  I'm not going anywhere.  Making ends meet at best.
Astronaut?  The lynchpin that tied the message and the memory.

K.  But why can't I remember writing the message?  Well, I would invite anyone who knows me to relate how unbelievably awful my memory is.  It's horrendous.

At least I can play a joke upon myself with a weakness I possess.

And so I say, well played me, well played...