Sandblast shower

The shuttle has a shower that uses

air to blast away dirt and grime.

The water I do have is

precious

or at least as

precious

as filtered water from my urine and feces can be,

so it has to get saved for drinking and for cooking.

Showering just isn’t high on the priority list

for water use up here

and,

I guess,

I am more or less okay with it,

because what other choice do I have?

I remember when I was a kid and

I thought

about space,

I thought 

everything would be synthesized,

like there would be some sort of machine

that could just make things out of thin air.

There is a machine that takes a paste and makes it food,

and there is the purifier for the water and a scrubber for the air.

There is a system to keep the place running

and keep all the transmitters and computers going 

and there is a lot of technology happening,

but hot water is just a luxury.

No one wanted to make me too comfortable in space.

Funny how that goes, isn’t it?

When the call to go came along, 

it was all kinds of promises

and I guess that’s always the way.

“It’s all good, you can count on us.”

Reality? Two years into a five-year trip

I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind.

I stink to high hell,

but I’ve smelled like this for so long now that I don’t know any different.

When I get back, I doubt I’ll have much of a taste for anything:

food,

or drink,

or music,

or good company.

Maybe the dream is for me to stay up here,

to ask to stay longer,

to tell 

command 

I’ve actually gotten

used to life

in space 

and

I can’t wait

to make this a ten-year term instead of a five-year term.

I don’t see that happening on my end,

but I wouldn’t doubt 

the question 

comes along.