Day 41. The second problem is — isolation — became most apparent. Robinson could walk along the shore, gaze at the horizon in anticipation of a white sail, or study the flora and fauna of his island. In my small world, I am deprived of all this.
The dark bowels of the circular corridor, filled with cryocapsule coffins, and a small bright spot, fenced off by the sheets of thermal insulation, where I exist — that's my whole island. When you see all this day after day, without even being able to look out the window, it starts to weigh on you.
But now I have classical music playing softly from one of the stolen laptops. On another, I watch movies and play games. On the third, I read books before bed and, of course, write this diary.