No, we will not tell our botany team to go fuck themslves.

Godspeed, little taters.

I finished making water some time ago. I'm no longer in danger of blowing myself up. The potatoes are growing nicely. Nothing has conspired to kill me in weeks. And seventies TV keeps me disturbingly more entertained than it should. Things are stable here on Mars.

I wish there were a way to spend more time on the surface. But oh well. 31 sols will have to do.

My coffin isn't going to be featured in Better Homes and Moonscapes anytime soon, but it's all I can afford.