Personal Log: My world is a wall of photographs I've collected from derelicts. They covers ceiling of my cockpit. A young woman in an orange jumpsuit smiles from one of the photos. She wears a nametag, but I can't make out what it says, not even when I squint. Theres a photo of the autumn forest, cityscape, group of cosmonauts, and families. There are things in my collection case, trinkets and souvenirs I don't recognize at all.
At home, on the solid ground, everything is so vast! Resources are almost endless, actions are like pebbles thrown into a lake, the ripples going on and on and on... you can only guess how far they go. Trying to track everything, trying to quantify what you do, trying to place a value on it borders on the absurd. But not in space. You deal with the same problems over and over again until you can do them in your sleep. That's the thing about traveling in space, there is always equipment involved, and equipment will always need to be fixed.