Despair in the Void

With no real night or day cycle, it’s hard to retain that idea of a perfect day…but I’ll give it a go.

Waking up in a bed that I don’t need to be physically strapped to. Being able to go for a nice morning piss without having to go through the stupid long-ass checklist or the insidious fear that my dick will get sucked out into the vacuum. Looking out a window and feeling the sun on my face… You know, the kind that wouldn’t literally melt it right the fuck off.

Ideally I’d then have breakfast consisting of foods that haven’t been wrapped in cellophane plastic or condensed into pill form. I’m old-fashioned that way, I guess. Being able to feel your digestive system actually working normally, instead of…whatever this weird floaty, not-quite-repeating sensation is. It’s not just me, speak to anyone who has done a tour up here and they’ll give you the same story.

Terra firma. Gravity… Lovely, lovely gravity…

Looking at something – anything – other than fucking stars. Sitting down – ah, another simple but impossible pleasure right now – to watch a football match without the awareness that everything  you are witnessing is taking place thousands and thousands and thousands of miles away…and that, despite the ‘live’ feed, happened not just minutes but hours ago.

Not having to give a single, tiny shit about surface tension.

Left alone… Huh. Sounds crazy, I know, but aboard this flying garbagecan, admittedly with not another soul to be found in the cosmos, I haven’t had a moments peace and quiet. You can forget about privacy; everything going on within my body is flickering on some screen down at Houston, and the NASA techies nag worse than a controlling mammy if they sense anything amiss.. Sometimes I feel like this rustbucket is just a giant ball and chain, constructed entirely for my benefit.

I’d have a few beers at the end of the day, and lapse into a drunken stupor safe in the knowledge that, come morning, I won’t be having another ‘super-hangover’ fed by the oxygen-rich air. Sweet, sweet oblivion, in gravity’s ever-present embrace.

Can I come home now?

“In the name of Peace and Progress!”

Seeing anything sexual in the image above is counter-revolutionary

Solidarity, brothers & sisters… 

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About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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