robotskirt to ground control

Friends: I write to you huddled under a desk lamp in a small, dark, clammy corner of the space center floating around Alpha Centauri 3. I woke up so early this morning I wanted to puke. There was a power outage that effected the whole block. We had to move some suits away from the projectors as the constant power surges are heating up the projector lamps enough that one more could cause them to blow. Meaning: broken glass on heads, shards on hair pieces. Panic. I fear the coffee tanks might blow and if that happens all hope is lost. We will spin off into a worm hole never to return.I have been sustaining myself on martinis and breakfast sandwiches. I have been here since Friday and have not seen the ocean yet. I grow weak, bloated and blotchy.Tomorrow I'll fly straight to Boston. Friday I'll be back on the shuttle headed to the mother ship wrapped in a full body cast with toothpicks in my eyes. As soon as my body adjusts to earth's gravity I will put on my beer suit and jump into a barrel. I'll need to plug my nose. My gills have not fully evolved...yet.Hope to see you then.