1 - Day 456
For the first 91 days of orbit I felt like too much of a rookie to question anything, but today I got up the nerve to ask Lukas if we are allowed any recreational devices. He gave me a weird look and then leaned over in his chair and lazily slapped a panel next to the control desk. I had to jump back when I realized that the wall was opening. A little table slid out loaded with all sorts of gadgets boxed in neat compartments, and smack dab in the middle was this boxy old computer. I didn't even know we had these things. No one has ever used them or told me about them since I have been aboard. I guess they don't get bored with their job; after all, they've been doing it a lot longer than I have. I don't know what's wrong with me- it hasn't even been three months yet and I already feel bored out of my mind. But I haven't told anyone. They're not exactly friendly.
When I booted up this computer I was disappointed to discover that it's actually an old model, probably from before I was even born. The internet is so slow that you can't even do a basic thing like watch videos or play games. That's what I was hoping to do. Pretty much the only thing the computer can do is type. So that's why I'm making this logbook, if only to keep me from going insane.
I'm not even sure why I was assigned to this job. From the time before I came around, I can remember dreaming of wide open spaces and blue sky and large ground space- but that had to be just junk from the developmental feed. I mean, there's nothing like that on Earth, with all the crammed together buildings, and the streets that look deceivingly spacious until there's cars zooming across it at rush hour. And here, in this tiny, cramped space pod it is even worse. They told me that I was chosen for this job, like I belonged to it. But I can't help but think I'm not supposed to have this job. Heck, I'm not even that good at it.
I'm not even that great a writer, but I can sort of remember the medical video analysis mentioning that recording events is healthy for the mind. Well anyway, I don't care. It's not like anyone is going to read this.
signed off zero four four seven p m
20 8 5 . 4 1 20 5 . 9 19 . 3 12 13 . 16 18 15 16 5 18 20 25 . 15 6 . 20 8 5 . N S E
For the first 91 days of orbit I felt like too much of a rookie to question anything, but today I got up the nerve to ask Lukas if we are allowed any recreational devices. He gave me a weird look and then leaned over in his chair and lazily slapped a panel next to the control desk. I had to jump back when I realized that the wall was opening. A little table slid out loaded with all sorts of gadgets boxed in neat compartments, and smack dab in the middle was this boxy old computer. I didn't even know we had these things. No one has ever used them or told me about them since I have been aboard. I guess they don't get bored with their job; after all, they've been doing it a lot longer than I have. I don't know what's wrong with me- it hasn't even been three months yet and I already feel bored out of my mind. But I haven't told anyone. They're not exactly friendly.
When I booted up this computer I was disappointed to discover that it's actually an old model, probably from before I was even born. The internet is so slow that you can't even do a basic thing like watch videos or play games. That's what I was hoping to do. Pretty much the only thing the computer can do is type. So that's why I'm making this logbook, if only to keep me from going insane.
I'm not even sure why I was assigned to this job. From the time before I came around, I can remember dreaming of wide open spaces and blue sky and large ground space- but that had to be just junk from the developmental feed. I mean, there's nothing like that on Earth, with all the crammed together buildings, and the streets that look deceivingly spacious until there's cars zooming across it at rush hour. And here, in this tiny, cramped space pod it is even worse. They told me that I was chosen for this job, like I belonged to it. But I can't help but think I'm not supposed to have this job. Heck, I'm not even that good at it.
I'm not even that great a writer, but I can sort of remember the medical video analysis mentioning that recording events is healthy for the mind. Well anyway, I don't care. It's not like anyone is going to read this.
signed off zero four four seven p m
20 8 5 . 4 1 20 5 . 9 19 . 3 12 13 . 16 18 15 16 5 18 20 25 . 15 6 . 20 8 5 . N S E
