I read that 91 percent of Americans are not offended by the phrase, "Mery Christmas."
The windowed reflection of a white-painted light bulb excites the rods and cones in my eyes, my central nervous system registering the chain of cause-and-effect events.
Coloured LEDs divert my attention to their combined conical shaping.
This is the wintry end of the year holiday timeframe I remember here in space.
I wanted to be called someting cool like 'Naut Rider or Dread 'Naut but the legal team back on Earth told me those names had copyright and trademark histories to contend with.
Instead, I'm a 'naut without a name.
I grow my own miniature, energy-packed vegetables. Protein packs are mixed and matched to my specific needs by the robonutritionist with which (not whom?) I converse through the train-of-thought app I switch on and off at will.
I thought that maintaining these giant soda-can habitat modules would give me cabin fever but the solar glider I built from old parts gives me the relaxing off-duty fun I used to have when living in the high-rise subbasement family prison farm with my incarcerated parents.
Today is one of the holidays of my varied ancestors.
Today I pray for Stella as she deals with Christmas without several recently-deceased family members; my hometown church's Scoutmaster, whose home burnt down during a recent ice/snow storm; those who spend Christmas in prison; the nine percent who are offended by a family-friendly commercialised holiday celebration around winter solstice.
At this time of year, while replacing carbon dioxide filtering systems before the next set of space hotel guests arrives, I promise myself no regrets, no envy and no cynicism as gifts of promise and hope to myself, replacing them with more happiness.
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