Everyday I am fleeing from fink-rats who call themselves "Truant Patrols." My concentration doesn't get any concentrating!
I do not have needing for this, dear diary! Now is when I am still searching for the gravy base to become my base of operations! I have desires to build machines and sleep on a bed of angel cake softness!
I am also needing new wardrobe of disguising
A pairing of robotic parental units (City life is having standards that are anal like the taste of coffee raging in black)
Cookware.
And Midbus. I have wishing he would come!
I will not go proceeding with rashness. Now is when I rest myself and rebuild