Entry #118

Time: 1817

I hate routines. Honestly, what's the point of a routine? All it does is succeed in getting you into a pointless, mindless, drivel-ish cycle of repetitiveness that never stops. I happen to find myself in a routine. The routine goes like this:

1) Wake up

2) Go swimming

3) Eat breakfast

4) Go get food

5) Eat lunch

6) Go get more food

7) Explore a bit

8) Go swimming again

9) Eat dinner

10) Go to sleep

With a fair amount of annoying IB inbetween. And being scolded by Aree. Seriously, who knew that an astromech droid had so many mean, untrue things to say? Okay… that's a lie, most of them are true in some way, but I'm happily content in IGNORING the matter entirely without some little pipsqueak droid shoving it in my face all the time.

The routine really stinks. Everywhere I go, I seem to have some repetitive pattern that I follow. What happened to living life on the edge? You would think that you couldn't get more on the edge than being trapped on some uninhabited SLIMEBALL with almost zero chance of rescue, but no. Here, if you're going to do anything at all, you've got to survive and to survive you've got to eat, so you spend most of your time getting food. I think I have successfully regressed to how the human race was millions and millions of years ago. Hurrah! Success for me.

It's all rather morbidly amusing. Your perspective can become so enlightened when you're trapped on a planet and have nothing to do but wait around to either a) be rescued (which is unlikely) or b) die from option one (you kill yourself), option two (boredom), three (you eat something that really, really shouldn't be digested), or three (a homicidal Imperial soldier shoots you). See what I mean by morbid? Really, what's the point of everything? Before you ask, no I am NOT becoming suicidal; I'm just attempting to be logical. Humans are really silly sometimes. We're the largest race in existence, we sit on the throne of the Galaxy, reigning it down on all the other species (actually, that's an apt description of our Emperor, but it applies to others as well) and yet we really are the most illogical, paradoxical beings ever to come into existence. Some of us hate life, yet we continue to cling on to it. We're not usually very good at defending ourselves unless we're armed with either a gun or a pointed stick, yet we have the biggest survival instinct ever.

I have come to the conclusion that the above is not making any sense at all and I'm quite surprised that my spelling and vocabulary haven't completely flown out of my head yet. Ho hum.

Dear Diary: I'm bored.