The anthropologists tell us that we don't naturally think of our day in terms of tasks, so much as activities, for example, reading email, helping someone set up equipment, and making a meal. We "chunk" our time when we can, allocating say the morning for one thing, and right after lunch for something else. Today felt like a series of chunks, big discrete activities, that kept following one after another, so I was always busy.

Here are the chunks of my day. See if you can guess the story behind the names:

• The Hot Water
• The Generator
• Briefing
• The Toilet
• The GreenHab
• The Computer Network
• The Freezer
• Lunch
• Slow Cooker
• The Breadmaker
• The Photographs
• Walking
• The Printer
• Potatoes
• Dinner

I've designated problems by the word "the," as in, "The hot water heater was not working so I was standing in the shower at 730 am, undressed and waiting and waiting for the water to get warm." Or how about, "The Generator was running but there was no power in the hab (because the batteries were drained, because I shouldn't have been told to turn off the generator last night after all, and I didn't know you needed to have a draw on the generator when it is started or it puts out nothing), so I was frantically sending messages on a computer run by an single Intelligent Back-up Power battery, hoping to get assistance before we lost all contact with humanity." Or maybe, "The toilet didn't flush." And "The printer that worked perfectly fine in my office, connected to the same computer with the same cord, was now spitting out blank sheets."

But the day wasn't one chunk of fitful stops after another. There were also moments of smooth harmonious action, as in "Lunch was a feast of ham, tomatoes, and cheese on freshly made bread." "Walking along the wash, we discovered a bounty of life-forms growing in rocks, and mused how a robot could do this on Mars." Or even, "Potatoes were effortlessly peeled, sliced, cooked and mashed, served with stuffed green peppers made in a slow cooker with a luscious, thick tomato sauce." Or "Dinner was accompanied by much joking about our missing crew member, and playful imaginings of what we will ask him tomorrow"—after he figures out how to get The Hot Water heater working again and The GreenHab gray water recycling flowing into the tank of The Toilet."

Life: Not one problem after another. But a series of bittersweet mysteries, some merely sputterings, and others moments of delight.