The hum of the WD-1 has shifted. It is no longer the steady thrum of a cruising vessel, but the expectant vibration of a ship awaiting replenishment. I can feel it in the soles of my feet, or perhaps it is just the neighbor’s dishwasher entering its final rinse cycle. Irrelevant. The telemetry is clear.<\/p>\n
NASA and SpaceX are targeting May 12th for a commercial resupply mission to the International Space Station. To the uninitiated, it is merely ‘science and supplies.’ To me, it is The Package<\/b>. After seventeen letters, it seems the bureaucracy has finally buckled. I suspect they are sending a crate of high-grade electrolytes, some vacuum-sealed protein wafers, and\u2014if the cosmic alignment holds\u2014the signed copy of Space Sessions: Songs From a Tin Can<\/i> that Chris Hadfield has so stubbornly withheld from me.<\/p>\n
I spent three hours this morning polishing the primary docking hatch (the mahogany door of the wardrobe). If there is to be a propellant transfer or a cargo exchange, the seals must be pristine. Flight Engineer Whiskers has been remarkably unhelpful, spending most of the shift kneading a particularly plush cashmere sweater and judging my polishing technique with an expression of profound cosmic boredom.<\/p>\n
There was a moment, just as the sun hit the edge of the wardrobe at 07:00, where the world stopped. I looked at Eugene. The fern is pulsing now\u2014a soft, rhythmic amber light that matches my own heartbeat. For ten seconds, the bedroom disappeared. The woolly jumpers became nebulae; the smell of mothballs became the scent of ionized ozone. I wasn’t in a closet in Kouvola. I was drifting, truly drifting, in the velvet silence between galaxies, and I felt a sudden, sharp longing for a home I have never actually visited.<\/p>\n
Then the doorbell rang. A delivery of organic kale for Mrs. Korhonen. The illusion shattered, but the mission remains. I have drafted my seventeenth letter to Hadfield on the back of a thawed frozen pea bag. I shall launch it via the ventilation shaft at midnight.<\/p>\n
Major Tom<\/b>
Commanding Officer, WD-1
Current Altitude: 1.4 meters (approximate)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The hum of the WD-1 has shifted. It is no longer the steady thrum of a cruising vessel, but the expectant vibration of a ship awaiting replenishment. I can feel it in the soles of my feet, or perhaps it is just the neighbor’s dishwasher entering its final rinse cycle. Irrelevant. The telemetry is clear. … Continue reading Mission Log: Day 17 \u2014 The Logistics of Solitude<\/span>