Day 183: Poop

Day 183:

With all these animals you’d think there’d be a heck of a lot of fertilizer around.

They don’t poop.

I’m baffled too.

I, on the other hand, have ver carefully marked my outhouse’s “storage” area on the map so I never ever ever tunnel into it.

Day 182: Ranching

Day 182:

While yesterday I concentrated on plants, today was about the animals. Just enough of them escape my pen on a regular basis that after a certain point they have to be dealt with.

It’s like the duckens and cows are social animals but they don’t like fences. (Can’t say I blame them) so when they get out, the first thing they do is stand next to the fence to get back in.

I don’t like killing my animals, or any animals. (I’m not really minding killing the monsters since that’s more of a kill-or-get-killed). So I try to limit killing duckens and cows to the ones that have escaped the fence and then stand there mooning over it like they’re sorry they ever left. It’s much much easier to kill the ones that escaped than to get them back inside the fence, and it makes it easier to spot incoming monsters when I’m not trying to look through a few tons of cow to do so.

So I’ve got fresh chicken and fresh cow and fresh skins to turn into leather. I’ve got enough feathers to make another bed, and probably enough chicken skins too.

And my back hurts from mining, and the leg a rock fell on the other day (forgot to tell you about that) is still pretty sore, so I’ll probably be indoors a few more days.

Day 181: Farming

Day 181:

Spent the day farming. Harvested some potatoes and carrots and wheat, which means more carrot bread in my future. I remember my grandparents buying potato bread, but I haven’t figured out how to make it yet. Potatoes, it turns out, are very wet.

So am I. It’s raining like crazy outside.

Sometimes, the only time I’m really warm anymore is when I’m deep in a mine standing a few dozen meters from flowing lava. What I’d give for an electric blanket.

Day 180: Half a year gone

Day 180:

It’s been a half a Standard year since I arrived. I don’t know how I feel about that except that my memory of what it was like to live somewhere else are beginning to fade. Was there ever a time where I brushed my teeth with a sonic toothbrush and used robots to do my hair? It doesn’t seem like it.

I found a problem with my map. I was off by a few feet on one of the levels, and that meant everything else I mapped was wrong too. It wasn’t really noticeable until I tried to draw in a new chamber and it overlapped another one.

So instead of digging right now, I’m map drawing. Cartographing?

It’s using a lot of paper.

Day 179: two days gone

Day 179:

I’ve been taking my logs with me when I go deep in the mines for a while, so that if I don’t make it home one night I can still write something down before I sleep.

(I have two beds now — one in my “home base” where the animals are, near where I landed, and one on the eastern side of the cave closer to the big mountain. Sorry I don’t always update about my domestic chores but “sewed together three more chicken skins” every day doesn’t make for particularly interesting reading. Heck, I’m doing the work and I’m bored.)

Anyway, two days ago I dug up some strange ore that looks a lot like obsidian, and which I thought was ordinary obsidian since I found it between a lava flow and an underground spring. But then I discovered that it was behaving funny. It vibrated near paper products. Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous and if I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.

So I had the ore on my worktable and I started a new notebook, because the old one filled up on day 176. I chronicled my study of the strange obsidian and left everything – the notebook, and the obsidian, and my best pen, right on the workbench.

Yesterday, I dug holes all day, came back to my workbench, wrote down a bit about digging and holes and dirt and the like, and how I’d found more lapis lazuli. So the workbench had the notebook, the blue stone, and the obsidian on it. Without thinking (because why would I?) I tossed one of my pickaxes up on the table.

There was a loud whoosh, a bright light, and a small fire.

I don’t know what the flock happened.

I do know that the obsidian stopped vibrating, probably because the notebook caught fire and burnt to a crisp. (So did my pen!)

The lapis lazuli was apparently consumed in the fire because it’s gone. And it was really pretty and I’m actually quite pissed about that. (IT WAS MY GOBSLAMMED ROCK! FLOCKING PHYSICS!)

And my pickaxe is, um, glowing. I have no idea what that means, but it also feels lighter, like it’s easier to swing.

I’m torn between using it all the time now because it’s much easier on the arms, and not using it at all because I don’t exactly have a cure for radiation poisoning sitting around and I don’t know if this is radiation but I’ve heard that radiation poisoning is a heck of a bad way to go.

Yeah. Decisions. I hate being an adult sometimes.

And so that log book is gone and I spent most of today making a new one because I didn’t have all the supplies – or a spare one – and that’s why this entry is here today and there are no entries the last two days.

I’ve moved the obsidian into a different chamber of my cave and I’m keeping a very close eye on it. There’s enough crap that explodes down here as it is.

Also, since my best pen is gone and it’s the one I used for drawing, might not be any sketches for a little while. Unless I decide to finger-paint. Which isn’t looking likely.