The strangest thing about starting a blog is the realization that you are, at first, talking to yourself. It is like you've landed on the planet Mars in a one-man spacecraft. You're the first to arrive. You mull around for the first few days. Eat, read, sleep. Eat, read, sleep. Then you decide to broadcast on the short wave radio on the off-chance that there is some intelligent life on this planet. You begin to transmit. "Hello out there. I'm here. Me. Duffy Prendergast. Just thought you'd like to know." But you're the only one there. Even though you're talking to no one but yourself, it feels better than being alone, so you talk. "I come in peace. I'm happy to help you if I can." but more likely it will be the other way around. You laugh out loud and you say in a deep voice "TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER!"
You get up the courage to leave your spacecraft one morning. You don't know if the air is breathable even though your equipment tells you that it is. You wonder where the oxygen could be coming from because when you look through the window all you see is brown and grey Mars. A glaring sun. Nothing green.
You open the hatch. You hesitate, but then like the first time you went parachuting, hanging on to the wing of the single engine Sesna, you let go and say to yourself "what the fuck...let's see what comes next!"
You step out and you take a deep breath. To your amazement you do not choke to death. You wheeze a bit, and cough. The air is dry and tastes and smells like a tangy cow pasture, but you do not immediately keel over and dye, so you've got that going for you.
You walk around for a while and check out the terrain. You enjoy the feel of the sun on your face and you wonder if there is enough ozone to protect you from the cancerous rays of the sun on this planet. You step cautiously because you're waiting for the slippery mucky bubbling clay to swallow you up, a paranoid thought you have not been able to shake since you fell through the ice exploring the frozen surface of Lake Erie as a child. You walk and you walk. Your legs do not tire because the gravity is almost a third less than that of Earth's.
You lose track of time. You have a sudden moment of panic. Your heart races as if it will suddenly erupt from your chest. You scan the horizon and you see nothing in every direction except brown caly. You can no longer see your space craft. Your space craft is your security blanket. It is all that you have. It is as if you have moved away from home for the first time, and you suddenly fear you will never find your way back.
You laugh out loud as your realize how silly this thought is. You have left the earth in a one-way vehicle. Perishing alone is the very least of your worries.
But still, your craft is your shelter. It is also your only means of communication with the earth. Your heart still pounds. You look down and you realize that you have left a trail of footprints. The thumping in your chest subsides. You follow the footprints until they begin to fade. The thumping in your chest begins again, but you tell yourself that if you walk the straight an narrow you will find your way back. You try to follow the direction in which your footprints led, but you can't be sure. You walk for hours...three times, at the very least, the amount of time it took you to get lost. And then you realize that you are "OUT THERE". You realize that you will never likely find your way back. You are completely on your own.
Your have started a blog, and there is no turning back. And so you talk...
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