I’m done putting dates on these things. Another dig-day, found nothing. (Words have changed. “Nothing” used to mean “Nothing important.” Now it just means nothing. Everything’s important. Hell, I’m not even Christian, and even I get excited by those holographic Jesus cards. I’ve never been good at this Survivor stuff, so it’s nice to discover something I can actually name identify, instead of yet-another-plant. I’d kill for a field guide. Get me some Latin up in this bitch. (Get it? Latin? In Latin America? (Wow, too many parenthesis. Parentheses? Grr.)))
Speaking of holographic Jesus cards, we have a “male construct” now. Mrs. Rinaldi (I still can’t bring myself to call her Tate, even though I’m getting as old as she looks now) brought him up to the dig site and he started shoving things in his mouth. RumInt as follows: he supposedly has some Oankali-tongue-thing that lets him do Oankali-tentacle-things, and the plastic did some Oankali-poison-thing. Right. I might have been an English major (fuck. i’m never getting my degree. fuck fuck fuck.) but all we need to do is go to the nearest medical equipment factory and- oh wait, too soon?
Fantastic. We get the only alien species in all of literature to have a latex allergy and we’ve nuked every first-world country in existence. Hahah. Vampires vampires everywhere and all I have is a cupboard full of toothpicks. Lovely.
That’s fine. Whatever. I can wait. Oankali say me live long time, I live long time. I can wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Then I’m going to bust a Nerf bullet in some alien ass.