While sweltering in the southern heat, where no place to go or no other interaction with other humans than this keyboard, hearing all the news of every place in the globe where one group is destroying another group with a daily grind of firing off loud weapons and then counting the bodies then start over again, this story sticks out.
Not the fumbling president or the gold lame felon, but these guys floating in a bubble way up high over us.
When we got bored finding missiles that could be fired at each other with payloads that can destroy cities, we started making satellites that can ping communications back to earth to show us where we are or send us junk mail. If flying to the moon to leave our trash or shooting off songs into the unknown hoping someone will answer and not come down and eat our babies; we decided to build an RV in space for scientist can live and perform experimental studies on how spiders can form webs or how many times that you bounce around in weightlessness before you start slugging your roommates?
Well, the story goes that this latest rocket used to bus astronauts to this space station had a few glitzes. As we all know from previous attempts to blast some folks on the point of a bullet is dangerous and potentially fateful to the passengers.
It seems on this mission, there were a few problems, but they made their destination and were welcomed aboard their new digs for an approximate week. Then mission control found some new problems so the return flight was put on hold.
The space station RV is spinning around the globe at 17,500 mph with a taxi stuck in the parking dock with two more passengers that are like weekend guest that can’t leave.
The great minds and floppy disk computers of the basecamp are rolling over scenarios of possible solutions while the others have to deal with the new sounds and smells of their unintending family. How long have their gifts of chips and salsa worn out? Who is spending more time in the loo? Move over on the bead! Are they sucking up all our air? Wonder how the next load of food is going to get here when the loading dock is full?
I suppose the crew can unlock the broken taxi and send it off into the depths of eternity and hopefully not break any parts for the next supply trailer to arrive. Getting a mechanic up here with replacement parts is more than a Google request.
My hermit mind wanders of those few who look down on our blue marble as stranded in a void. If the bubble burst, all is lost.
We, who are firmly stranded on solid ground, can look up and wonder if those up there are lucky or suspended in space?
Are we next?
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