Years on the outpost are different that Earth. It’s hard to differentiate them. There are no celebrations and if we do try to celebrate something it’s because some new update has come in from Earth. It so distant. So remote from our daily lives that I don’t really understand why we would celebrate. For these reasons, I have no new year resolutions. That’s what Gris says what you call them. Things that you decide to do for yourself, to change or strive for. I don’t have those but I have dreams.
My dreams are endless and they keep me going and stop me from feeling sad.
Nothing much happening here. Gris is somewhere fixing something and I am bored, bored, bored. There may be something on the newscast from Earth. What’s this white stuff on the screen. Someone is broadcasting snow. Happy dance!
We don’t have Christmas here on outpost 311. We don’t have seasons and one day is like any other. However, the news update says that it is Christmas time there. A time for food (oh joy!) and for presents.
Gris always remembers Christmas. He made me a back scratcher out of toughened cable. I made him a hardtack house, glued together with squashed baked beans. He loved it.
Now it’s time to grab the checklist and keep this outpost in ship shape. Cough!
Gris tells me that you guys eat heaps of food at Christmas. Food that I haven’t even heard of let alone tasted. One day I’ll come to Earth and eat and eat and eat.
I thought I’d do some maintenance in the galley. Not that we cook that much normally besides heating beans. Last trade, we got two tins of pea and ham soup. I thought I’d check the elements and clean the heating unit so that we could have a nice dinner. I managed to pull it all apart, but somehow it doesn’t go back together.
Gris is grunting and groaning trying to put it back together. Oh dear. He says that a part broke when I disassembled the unit and can’t be fixed.
It’s not likely we’ll get a spare part. Looks like we are having cold soup as our special treat.
So best attentions aside, I should have left it alone. A working, dirty heating unit is better than a clean, non-function heating unit.
On a space outpost, even a crap one like this one, it pays not to ignore the lights-flashing lights, warning lights, winking comms buttons. Mostly they are false alarms because the electrics are falling apart. Last time I ignored flashing lights we lost one of the landing bays. It wasn’t my fault mind you. How was I supposed to know that Gris was repairing the heating unit of the life support down there? He had mentioned he was doing something, but in vague way like he usually does.
It all turned out well, I suppose. We had less work to do to get the scrap we needed.
What’s that smell. Oh, it’s dinner. Better go while the beans are still warm.
Being stuck out here on this miserable excuse for a rock, I don’t get much chance to communicate. But now there is this thing called Twitter and Facebook and I thought it would alleviate the boredom to play around with these things. Too bad I don’t know anyone but Gris and scummy space pirates. I wonder if @Curry_Eater is really a space pirate name. It sounds like one.
Today was my birthday and Gris found a packet of jerky to go with our beans and hard tack. It was a bit chewy and salty but it was nice of Gris to share it with me. He was so sweet about it I had to wipe tears from my eyes. Silly old oaf he is.
We’re expecting a lone space pirate in a few days. I’d better go. We have more corridors to scrap so we can exchange the metal for food.
Geez what’s that smell. Oh no! The rotten reclamation unit has gone again. Sorry, gotta go. I have to clean some pooh out of the airlock.
Here is the cover of the book. Stay tuned as I fill up this place with Rayessa guff.