When I was a child, I wanted to become an astronaut.

I look at the world through my portholes. The light illuminates my capsule, my command module. There is some food, picked to my taste. There are regular communication sessions with the rest of the team; sometimes my friends chime in.

It is easy to lose track of the days. Here, every day feels like the next. Sure, there are working days and days off, but other than that, weekdays are basically indistinguishable. My geostationary orbit is stable and safe; every time I look down I see the same spot. It is nice to occasionally look down, up here it is easy to forget there is actually something beyond my ship.

When I was a child, I wanted to become an astronaut. Now I fly, on a solo mission, locked in a thirty-something square metres capsule, the world behind my fourteen- and fifteen-inch portholes, at my fingertips and yet unreachable.

Ground Control, are you still there?

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