I feel as though my eyes are burning out of my skull; I've been reading nearly non-stop for the past six hours. My muscles are tired from the strain of a perpetual squint and I'm exhausted. At some point you placed a sandwich in front of me, but the bread's hardened and the mayonnaise has turned a suspicious clear, making me hesitant to eat it. I'm not hungry anyhow. I'm taking a very short break from research to write down today's entry. I've been taking diligent notes on things that may pertain to repairing the mess I've made of the world. I would be surprised if I've found anything that could remotely help our predicament, though.
Kevin Tran has been making more appearances about the bunker since Sam's recovery. He's been working intently, continuing the translation of the tablet. My relationship with him is rather stiff; there's not much we both can relate to and I've not yet fully grasped the concept of "small talk". I'm not frigid on purpose.
Kevin's persistence is remarkable, regardless. We've all been searching through books, performing internet searches (I've since been banned from using the computer; it seems I'm easily distracted. I can't help being curious as to how much an all-inclusive trip to Cozumel is, Dean), and employing Garth to find anyone who may have an inkling of knowledge. So far, our search has yielded little results.
You're trying your hardest to keep everyone's spirits high. Sam's completely immersed in research and Kevin's exhausted. Your attempts aren't really helping; no one's paying you much mind as you randomly blurting out positive encouragement.
I suppose I've wasted enough time writing, I best get back to reading some barely legible journal written fifty years ago by a madman who claims to hear angels.