It’s currently 2:42am on the last morning of February — the 28th. It’s a Saturday, and it is hot. We have two air conditioners, and they both seem to be blowing out hot air. I’ve spoken to a few people about it, and they tell me to turn one — or both — off. But it’s hotter without them, so it’s really a matter of choosing the lesser evil.
That said, it’s actually good practice for me. If I want to be a glassblower, I have to get used to being in the hot shop, which — as its name suggests — is a very hot place. So, I’m not complaining too much.
On Thursday night I took Mum to the Adelaide Planetarium. My friend Mariah is an astronomer there, and she got us tickets to her Adelaide Fringe show Our Magnificent Moon. Below you can see the sign just outside the Planetarium doors.
I stopped going because of an 80-year-old man who kept grabbing my bum every time I hugged him. He also did this weird thing where he would press himself against me in a way that made my skin crawl. I had to decide whether to say something about him or simply stop going. I chose to stop going because I didn’t want to ruin him for Mariah. She loves him and, for the life of me, I can’t work out why. To me, he is the definition of a sex pest.
Mariah and I are still good friends. She knows he did something that put me offside, but she doesn’t ask about it anymore.
Our Magnificent Moon was such a cool Fringe show. It was a full house. Mariah projected a huge graphic of the Moon onto the dome and talked us through its locations and craters. I think Mum found it a little boring. I was sitting next to Mariah’s husband, Rob, who I really like, and he kept sighing and looking at his watch. Meanwhile, I was sitting there thinking how extraordinary it all was. Here he is, married to this fabulous woman who knows everything about the stars, the Moon, space, physics, astrophysics — all of those enchanting subjects — and he seemed to be in a hurry to leave.
The talk went for just over an hour and it put me right back in the mood for anything astronomical. When Mariah asked if there were any questions, I put my hand up and said, “You’ve talked about some of the astronauts who went to the Moon during the Apollo missions — could you tell us a little bit about the rubbish they left on the lunar surface?”
She explained that the astronauts did leave equipment, waste, and various items behind on the Moon.
We said goodbye to Mariah and Rob and came home.
I started thinking about the Apollo missions and all the things they left on the Moon. The sheer arrogance of man. What claim do we have to it? Who are we to go and litter on another celestial body?
It feels like that old colonial way of thinking. We deem the Moon terra nullius. But how do we know that extraterrestrials don’t periodically travel there every million years and take up residence? What if we have disrupted their space? What if we have invaded it? And even if extraterrestrials don’t do that — who are we to assume that they don’t?
The first thing I did was find an inventory list of everything left on the Moon during the Apollo missions. Then I wrote a letter to NASA asking on what authority they left it all there.
Even the rovers — they annoy me the most. Who said we could do that? What permission was given? Littering is a crime, as far as I’m concerned, and we have done it in abundance. On the Moon. And on Mars too.
I said I wanted a peaceful and gentle life. I said I was going to stay away from heavy topics. And yet here I am, feeling compelled to investigate this further.
I know there is space law and all sorts of international agreements. But surely, they didn’t agree to this — to actually leaving man-made objects and waste on a celestial body that is not our own?
We don’t own the Moon. We never have. And we had no right to do that.
I am not doing any university this year, and I’ll tell you why.
First and foremost, I need money. Urgently. For myself and for Mum. I have to get a job, and I am going to apply for work with the Census when applications open in April. I am also going to continue building my hospitality skill set so I can apply for a casual job at the Adelaide Festival Centre or the Adelaide Entertainment Centre.
The other primary reason I’m not doing uni this year is that I want to complete a qualification through TAFE NSW — a Certificate IV in Arts and Cultural Administration. I think this qualification might give me an edge the next time the Centre is recruiting. And the reality is, while I'm at uni, my dream is to work there.
I feel like anyone who has read even a little of this blog would advise me not to defer my studies — again. But I’ve never felt so inspired to lose weight, fix my sleep, work for the Census, and develop short-term qualifications that will support jobs around university.
Mum is a player sponsor for the AFL football club she supports. She’s been doing it for around twenty years, and my brother and I used to poke fun at her, comparing sponsoring an AFL player to sponsoring a World Vision child. But she loves it. She gets a new player every year and usually takes the time to get to know them. Over the years, she’s made a lot of friends around the club and knows the President well.
On Wednesday last week she attended the first player sponsor dinner of the year, where she is formally assigned her player. The player always sits with their sponsor and, although I’ve never been, it sounds like a bit of fun.
On Wednesday night Mum was sitting at a table with the President and other VIPs. She told me that her player — a young man in his early twenties — told her he felt out of his depth being seated among such important people. I thought that was sweet.
In many ways AFL football players have always intimidated me. They seem to move in circles of beautiful women and confidence — a world where I definitely do not fit. And yet, I could completely relate to what he said. I could be sitting at a table next to my Mum — even next to my Dad when he was alive — and still feel out of my depth.
