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The Antarctic sun - Source: ONE News -
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Standards are slipping at Scott Base.
There's some excess chocolate pudding which has settled on my jacket. It fell from my spoon, and now it's all dried out on the zipper. I tried to lick it off, but my tongue couldn't get in the grooves. I can't be bothered washing it.
My eyes are dragging, my lips are split and raw. My hair looks like that of one of those fluorescent, malleable troll dolls which were popular about 15 years ago.
I smell.
The worst part of my rapid descent into Scott Base squalor is that I really don't care. I notice, sure, but it doesn't bother me. It doesn't seem to bother anyone. They're not judgemental types here. My confidence builds from the masses who have joined the descent.
I blame the sun. It shines every hour. It steals sleep and as the evening drags, warm and refreshing becomes harsh and unrelenting.
I went for a walk last night. I stayed out until after midnight. The sun didn't falter. It may have dipped, it may have eased its intense focus hiding behind a distant Antarctic haze, but it didn't falter.
The shutters on our windows help. They hide most of the light. They fool the eye, but they can't fool a sleep deprived mind.
The Antarctic sun is beautiful. Come winter, they'll yearn for its glow.
It saves up all its annual leave and takes its holidays at once.
I just wish it would take the night off.
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