There is no emotion. There is peace.
There is no ignorance. There is knowledge.
There is no passion. There is serenity.
There is no chaos. There is harmony.
There is no death. There is the Force.
There is no guilt. There is repression, binge eating and desperate attempts to make amends.
Right. Binge eating out of the way, as, like, we are out of our stashes of Uncle Jinn and JJ's brownies, Funyuns, Snapple and dried squid with extra MSG. And being dead and all, nothing fatty changes my sleek girlish figure. Or gives me a stroke.
I'm not sure about the repression thing as I think I might have repressed things too much. I've repressed the repression techniques, so I know what I need to repress, but I forgot how. Bummer.
What do I need to repress, you ask? Have you been keeping up with the events here and on JJ's blog? Oh, right, like, you've forgotten what my blog was about because there was such a, like, long span between now and my last post. Wow, man, look, like, right, okay, Don't get all uncool and heavy. Things happened. I mean, I might be dead and all, but things still happen.
Nothing important enough to keep me from posting, but wow, man, don't bring me down.
Train of thought will reopen early next year, as maintenance is needed to remove the spicy twigs and hair-balls from the tracks.
What? Oh... OH! Oh, wow, yeah. The guilt.
I almost killed I-SUC. In my state of being whacked out of my gourd, man, I lost it. I opened everything, including him. I mean, like, right, think about it. A week in the mall, working for some uncaring, unfeeling, spoilt jerk, catering to scores of thankless, soul-less sheep, with no real breaks, no time to relax, nothing like that... *opens a tin of jellied cranberry sauce with a swirl of the Force, turns the can upside down and empties the wiggling contents onto his desk, which is covered in seeds, incense, and candle wax drips* So, needless to say, I was a bit stressed when I got home.
I was feeling less Jedi than I had in a long time. A long time.
So, for reparations, I needed to do something for I-SUC. Something special.
JJ fixed him up good-like. Put him back together, oiled his joints, refilled his fluids, sharpened his food processor blades and gave him some new spatulas that he picked up from our last trip to Spatula City Coruscant.
However, like, he was still without legs, man. JJ was really handy when he built him out of the appliances in the Big Brother house, but he should have used the less useful apparati. Like Fluke's automated credit counter slash roller, Or Padme's Industrial Sized Jumbo Heavy Duty Hair Dryer.
But, like, my tangents double as novels...
So, right, the little guy needed some legs.
I had taken Wood Shop when I was but a wee Padawan at the Temple. I made loads of useful items. Like, a stool. And a robe rack. And a chest to hide my stash in.
There was some left over wood from when we put together the shelving in the gardens in our flat, so, like, I snagged a few boards, and went to town, man.
* * *
Making the legs was easy. I turned my lightsabre down to the 'Whittle' setting and in no time, there were two far out legs for I-SUC.
Well, okay, right, I, like, started in, got the one leg done, baked a batch of fresh brownies, gobbed them, watched some Scoob and listened to some Pink Fambaa, then got serious, as possible in a spice haze, and made the other leg, man.
I-SUC was a stoked little pile of modern conveniences when I gave him the finished product.
JJ hooked them in, and, man, there is nothing like the good Karmic feeling of doing good for a less fortunate citrus salvaging droid, let me, like, tell you, man.
I-SUC stood, teetering and a bit lopsided because, like, the legs must not have fit right. I mean, they were solid construction. Not exactly even or anything, but, like, still good quality, man.
All was right in the world.
Until the spark. Whiff of ozone. Puff of smoke. Flames engulfing I-SUC. I don't know, man, but I thought I heard maniacal laughter over the roar of the blaze. The little guy was there, like, on the ground, rolling back and forth, flailing his melting spatulas, and going "... let this be the funeral pyre..."
JJ should have used different bits. Then maybe I-SUC wouldn't be so emo, man.
But, flames. Flames. Flames on the side of his face. Breathing, breathless, heaving breaths, heaving...
Until JJ saved the day with the fire extinguisher.
I did it again.
I nearly killed the little guy...
But for some strange reason, since JJ rebuilt him, as he had the technology, I-SUC keeps smiling at me and looks, like, grateful.
I don't know, man, but I'm off to binge.