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Houston, We Have A Problem
by Christopher Silva

Racing through space at over fourteen thousand miles per hour is  amazing to say the least. Orbiting the Earth is like being at the best concert ever. A magic show that never stops. I can spend hours pasted to this portal, just awed by its majesty.

Space flight is an incredible experience. No matter how wonderful, it just isn't for everyone. And I'm starting to worry. I am beginning to believe that space flight just isn't for me.  I know. It's a bit late! That's what Houston said anyway.

One of my main issues here- is mess. The space station is messy. Poor or no stowage, just horrible!

I started this journey three years ago and stuck with it to the end. Through all the training hours, weeks and months of grueling tests. Mentally and physically dissected and analyzed. Well, they missed  something, because I am tired of it now and ready to leave.

Houston is very worried about this, and they should be. This stinks! I  mean that literally. Have you ever been with other humans in a tin can for two or three months, even a year? And this without proper bathing facilities? So between the mess and the stench, I'm ready to go home. I tried, really I did. I took a pragmatic approach to resolve these issues.

I started by adding agenda items to our morning team meetings. During these meetings I informed the team that we needed to tidy up. We needed to think about how to better store things, that we could re-decorate this station. I discussed color coordination. I even designed  a whole new approach to hygiene. I sent a special order with our last request to Houston for new station attire and color coordinated sleeping gear. The answer: "No time, scientific testing takes priority." Don't they get it?

So, it's time to go. Not sure and don't care what the costs are. They need to get a shuttle up here and take me home. I can't bear another day in this dirty little station.

So I sit, pasted to the portal, waiting. Watching the show. I just don't understand. It's their rule. It's all their fault. They came up with the idea.

Don't ask don't tell.