• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 05
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Get Back To Work

This is better than floating in a pool. Gravity no longer pushes down on me, threatens to fill my lungs with H2O. In this pressurized suit I am a feather—an unconstrained, infinitesimal speck of dust. I pedal an imaginary bicycle to the rhythm of Queen’s race anthem. This is fun for a minute, but what is a minute out here?

Ground Control tries to tie me to a fixed point on the surface. I defy their attempts to pin me down and map me; fly me like a kite. I am autonomous within my space diaper. A population of one.

I squint, line up Earth between my palms, dropkick it like a Champions League goaltender. The motion spins me into an anti-gravity impersonation of a Ferris Wheel. After regaining control, I position my forefinger under the near arc of the blue-green marble. I wink and picture myself as a Harlem Globetrotter while it slowly rotates.

Mission Control is no less obtrusive than those concerned with my positioning. I am reminded that I have a job to do—to focus. Time is money, especially in a vacuum.