Mumble Herder

I am so annoyed at myself. I totally spaced the 200th anniversary of my blog! I mean, clearly I haven't had this particular blog for 200 years (LJ's only been around for, what? Seven years? And Blogger since 1926 or so, I think . . .), and while I could give you a URL to the archives of my then-blog (with the rather inflated title of "Dispatches From the Life of a Freelance Quartermaster's Assistant"), you'd get nothing but 404s on account of all the Prussian domain names having been wiped out. But I have the hard copy which it was transcribed from at the time (I keep it in fourteen 40-pound boxes), so I can quote to you the entire first entry, from February 1 1807:

Damn agency has placed me with Lestocq's unit. Told them after Jena-Auerstedt that I didn't want to work with any more Prussians. Barely got out of there alive, and left a really good ergonomic desk chair behind. Plus, seriously, it's all or nothing with these people. Before they were convinced they couldn't be beaten, now it's all "Oh poor us we're doomed." Annoying. Should go back to cleaning fish.

OK, I know that's not all that sexy. But the one from a few days later (February 8) is a little more exciting:

Fighting today. Everyone freaking out about ammunition. Personally, I'm a lot more annoyed about the shortage of those little notebooks I like. Snuck away from camp to ask around for some--wasn't supposed to, but screw Klaus anyway. Sanctimonious little jerk. Today he was crying at his desk about "the little princes." He has a picture of them in his cube; CREE-PEE. When they evacuated Berlin I thought he was going to ascend, he was so relieved. Anyway, I'd been stealing the little notebooks from stock (don't tell anyone), and then we ran out. I was working on that story, the one about Aaron Burr's steamboat empire? I have no idea where to submit it. There really won't be any fiction magazines around for another decade or so.

Anyway, no one at the farms had any of the little notebooks. Most of them had run away. (The farmers, not the notebooks. Heh.) Got back late. (Am STILL sleeping in my cube, not even a cot. Wrote to temp agency, no word so far. What a load of crap! All this for a Pfennige a day.) Started marching early. I thought we'd get there too late for any fighting today, but NOOO. Four o'clock in the afternoon, Lestocq gets all gung-ho. Klaus started weeping. Now we've got all these Russian stragglers joining up and asking for supplies. Man, I lied about speaking German to get this job; I don't understand a word these new guys say. Anyway. Didn't die today. Can't wait for weekend. Hope Napoleon's bed is lumpy.

I wonder what Klaus is up to now?