Whatever Happened To Robot Jones
In an half-expected turn of events, Leroy has died. Overdose. To be honest I don't feel bad about it, at all. Not after what he put Sam through. To me, it's just one more beast machine taken out of life's photo album. But I have to admit, I will always miss the Leroy that was my friend from a long time ago. Shipley's at dawn after an all night rolling session, moldy beer, steam rollers (Emily should remember that one); Those were the good times, before everything got itself so utterly ass fucked. Anyway, I'm done. Rest in peace, Mr. Guitar.
Being back at work is a headache. I've been trying to let my A.D.D. consume me on the job. You see, the terms of my mental disease work like this: I begin thinking about something, something unrelated to whatever I'm doing, then ride it into a massive web of day dreaming and 'what if?' scenarios. This, if the battle plan succeeds, plays out into lovely ten minute intervals of pure catatonic bliss.
I miss my iPod, Lee took me to take the bastard back this last weekend because apple's twisted, misleading description of the iPod photo lead me to believe it was a digital camera and mp3 player. Or maybe I'm just a hopeful little girl. Or stupid. Anyway, we were supposed to pick of the shittier version, just a 20 gig regular iPod (no photo attached), but the Apple Store at the Galleria was sold out. The sales fuck said they'd probably have another batch in by the end of this week, and they best.
I = Sore, tired, and lonely. I'm ready for the weekend.