in which there are 48 days left

Stinky bhut

As much as we joke about the male b- huts smelling bad, this still took me off- guard. Billy and I laughed our asses off over this. Noble effort, indeed- and they were STILL airing the place out. That's got to be some serious funk.

We're in the forties! Hooray for the forties. I think I'll completely lose my mind when the countdown gets into the 30s. 48 days left, and today has been just lovely. It's gotten suddenly, strangely warm lately; it's 63 degrees outside right now, hovering in the 30s at night. Gorgeous, cool and crisp and perfect for running. I worry a little about it getting insanely hot before we leave, but with 48 days left who really cares? I'm folding up my cold- weather clothes and packing them into a giant box tonight. The packing has to be my favorite part- watching my room slowly fall back into the state it was in when I got here. Every box feels like another step closer.

Soapstone

We've been making piles of soapstone pieces we find on post on the steps to our office, lately. I'm sure we look crazy, but I think that's expected of us anyways. I love having a mission, even a silly one, and there's something very fun about emptying cargo pockets of rocks onto our office stairs, then forming them into small… well, they look a little like cairns, here. Hurm.

Tonight is: lasagna at the chow hall, watching movies in bed and finishing Billy's scarf. (How the hell do you cast off in double- knitting?)

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