Hello again. Today I decided to focus on getting clothes.

Why clothes you ask? Simple. Bugs do not stop biting when you go to sleep. I woke this morning covered in bugs and their bites. I imagine you could see my flames from the caves. I feels like a eternity since I left those dark tunnels.

Anyway, I trekked back into the swamp stratching at the magnificent display of colors and texture those vilesome insects left on my skin. Determined to put something between me and them for the next night.

My first problem is material. What can I make clothes from? I tried making clothes out of fire, but it just doesn't last. the long grass and reeds of the swamp caught my eye next. A long while of handling the sharp edged grasses and brittle reeds left me highly frustrated. So naturally, I burned the offending plants.

This was when I had a breakthrough. Among the ash lay loose fine fibres. Cackling gleefully I scooped up this new plaything. As it happens I am terrible at fine motor control. Oh I can write just fine, clearly, and my continued survival showcases my fleet-footedness and agility. But real control, fine dexterity. It is my bane.

This became more and more evident as I attempted to find ways to work the fibres as is. They are too fine for my stupid fingers to manage to weave and hold. So I began to roll them into thicker stands. Grumbling in disgust of my own incompetence I painstakingly began to get thicker and longer groupings until I suppose it could be considered thin cord.

Time passed slowly as I hamfistedly wove the resilient fireproof cordage into sheets. By this point I was going to make clothes of this or die trying. The sheets of cord, none larger than three handspans, I began to secure to each other with spare cords and thorns from a very unpleasant bush. This led to pricked fingers. And those led to screams of impotent rage and frustration

As the sun started its descent from the heavens I was left with two misshapen pieces of what might generously be called cloth. By a blind man. Sensing the end I moved with increasing haste. And in that haste I accidently stepped on the hem of one of my hard earned prize. Tearing it in half. I spent the next while inventing curse words. None of which I wish to write.

The two, now three, pieces of cloth became a poncho and skirt. I used the smaller half of the torn cloth as a belt and a floppy hat. In a fit of whimsy I decorated the belt and hat with the fangs from the fang log I had for dinner.

The cloth is a bland ashy grey, and the workmanship is rough. And the poncho in particular is stiff and scratchy limiting my arms movement some. Making writing this a hassle. I guess I will need to cut some arm flaps in it. And there are a few wider gaps between individual sheets than I'd like. But I am no longer naked, and that is surprisingly comforting.

The sun is almost gone so I will rest again on this muddy flat.

Goodnight.