The missing diaries of Mark Watney
Editor’s foreword - As many readers of Commander Watney’s diaries have pointed out, there are gaps in the narrative and this led to speculation that the version published was significantly edited and redacted. We are happy to announce that we have acquired a full and unabridged set of the diaries and the missing entries follow. Please note that these are presented unedited and are of a rather more graphic nature than the original.
Log Entry: Sol 28
OK, let’s get this clear, I’m not going crazy but it’s possible that Tom Hanks may have had a point when he started chatting to a ball. Now, because NASA can’t be trusted to include the essentials on any interplanetary voyage, like sports equipment, I’ve been forced into desperate measures. So I’d like to introduce my new companion, Platey. While he may look like crudely drawn features on the faceplate of an EVA suit, I can assure you this is not the case. He is in fact a fully qualified and competent member of the crew, tragically also marooned.
Log Entry: Sol 32
I don’t know if this counts as cannibalism but I picked up the wrong suit and spent part of today wearing Platey. I really should have considered that I might have need for an extra helmet before drawing his features with the Sharpie. It’s really hard to peer around the eyes I’ve drawn on. Godammit. I knew the moustache was a terrible idea.
Log Entry: Sol 42
A man has needs, a load of dead time and only so much awful TV to watch and I don’t think, given all the other bodily fluids I’ve discussed, that spunk should come as that much of a surprise. Also, it was mostly thinking about Mom that I refrained from writing about it ‘til now, so I think kudos to me. There’s surprisingly little in the databases about the calorific values or composition of semen so I’ve had to sketch out some math to work out where it’s best employed. I so hope that it’s not going to be best as a garnish on potatoes. If dismantling your companion wasn’t cannibalism, how does consuming your own fluids figure in? My Wikipedia entry is going to be seriously fucked after this. Also, if I don’t end up with at least fifteen World Records I am going to be pissed.
Log Entry: Sol 59
I’ve developed a problem. Jerking off in silence is depressing so I’ve been keeping the music on a bit. This means that almost every session has a soundtrack of Disco because the Beatles is just sacrilege. Yesterday when I was in the rover and put some tunes on, instant hardon. I’ve only fucking gone and conditioned myself. It’s now a classic Pavlovian response - Disco equals erection. I am going to have to break this cycle or I’m going to be a complete disgrace at weddings.
Log Entry: Sol 60
For the record, jerking off to 80’s TV does not make things better. I’m never going to be able to look Commander Lewis in the eye again. Good thing I’m not surrounded by canned laughter everywhere I go or I’d have trouble walking.
Log Entry: Sol 78
Today’s experiment - what is the parabola of jizz in a 0.4G environment? Mom, I’m really sorry. I am going to be the author of some truly magnificent papers when I get home. Let’s see what happens when you peer review that.
Log Entry: Sol 94
If semen archery isn’t in the next olympics it’ll be a travesty. Seriously, this is a great sport. Sure it might be hard to air in primetime and yes there is a gender bias, I’m sure that adjustments for differing gravity levels will have to be made but I really think I could make this work. You can have different versions; Accuracy, target range, volume, endurance. The possibilities are endless! I’m definitely adding gold medals to my world records here.
Log Entry: Sol 97
I can’t believe I forgot to ask how the Cubs were doing.
Log Entry: Sol 98
I really miss boobs.
Log Entry: Sol 115
I’ve forgotten what oranges smell like. I’ve tried really hard to conjure it up but nothing’s coming. I can remember the joy of a glass of OJ and the pulp sticking between my teeth but not the smell. I can’t remember apples or pears either. The scent of overripe bananas however will never leave me. I hate bananas but I think I might kill for one right now.
Log Entry: Sol 152
If I rig up an empty suit, fill it with sand so it’s got heft to it and spend some time hugging it, does that make me a total loser?
Log Entry: Sol 206
Have declared a wanking moratorium. Shut up. You would too if you had friction burns on your dick. Well what else are you supposed to occupy your time with when you’ve got a bad back?
Log Entry: Sol 276
The psychologists are going to have a field day with me when I get back and my eventual list of neuroses are going to make someone's career. I am so bored.
Log Entry: Sol 302
I am a claustrophobic agoraphobic, I think I need to resurrect Platey.
Log Entry: Sol 377
"I'm going to log every day". Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Log Entry: Sol 497
I think that I might have to admit that the stars, quite literally, are aligned against me and I’m not going to get home. That would be pretty shitty, especially since I’d be going out on a last meal of potato and some furious humping of my own hand.
Log Entry: Sol 505
Pretend I said nothing. HOLY SHIT! We might actually pull this off. Potatoes for everyone! I’m going to demand a national potato day when I get home.
Log Entry: Sol 540
My resume is going to be fucking awesome when I’m done with this. I am a space pirate, a vandal, a mad scientist and a motherfucking Martian. Beat that, suckers.
Log Entry: Mission Day 689
Are we nearly there yet?
Day one motherfuckers. Not Sol three hundred and why am I still on this godforsaken planet. Days. Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Now this is a proper planet, you don’t even have to save all of your bodily fluids for future use. You can stomp decisively without propelling yourself slightly into the air. Also, baths. Showers. Swimming pools. All manner of large bodies of water really.
I can have sex with someone who’s not me. I think I’m using that as the motivator to get out of NASA’s clutches. Hell, at this point I’d happily have sex with someone in NASA’s clutches. When you’re used to composting your own shit, having sex with someone in front of several high level administrators, medics and the assorted world press isn’t actually that big of a deal. Besides, if anyone puts disco on I don’t think I can be held responsible for my reactions.
Ok, so there are a lot of people. While touching is pretty good, (yay for human contact) if one more person shakes my hand I may break their fingers. Or not given the time in low gravity followed by the microgravity of the journey home. New plan, build muscles back up and then break fingers.
I know I’m the poster boy for all things awesome right now, but I’ve got to the stage where I’m failing to see what all the fuss is about. I spent time alone and didn’t explode my living quarters more than a couple of times. I also cost several countries a pretty impressively ridiculous sum of money and I think there are voodoo dolls of me around the place from various scientists who had their missions scrapped in favour of my rescue. I’m going to have to buy a whole load of geophysicists a lot of chocolate.
I keep flinching when people open doors and am still surprised that the air doesn’t woosh away.
That fucking photo of me standing in the rain with my face upturned and scrunched up like a dog’s asshole while I sobbed is everywhere. I am going to find the dickhead who took it and make him spend hundreds of days on a planet by himself and see if he doesn’t cry when water spontaneously falls from the sky. I bet he wins a fucking Pulitzer for it. I’m getting a lawyer and demanding royalties for all the prizes people will win because of me.
So I don’t have to keep a log anymore but my therapist (ugh) thinks that it’ll be helpful to maintain equilibrium and we all know how much I like the sound of my voice so I’m going to agree with her on this one. All ego, all the time.
It is a lot harder than you think to break yourself of terrible habits.
I cannot keep touching my dick whenever I want. This is not acceptable for anyone over the age of three
Narrating every thought out loud, also not good when you’re past toddler. No-one needs to hear this shit.
My cleaner found my stash of potatoes. God damn.
Leave. The. Piss. Alone
No one lets me do mad science anymore. Apparently a National Hero needs all of his limbs and a lack of eyebrows is an impediment to being taken seriously. Fucking assholes.
What do you think the chances are of them letting me go back? I don’t feel that I belong on Earth anymore. I’m a Martian.
NASA and the president are going to be pissed.