That was the final straw for my back


Great. Gramps took my car to his nephew. It was just fine, nothing wrong with it. Until they switched the battery. And that was the moment when Goldscythe (the nickname that I gave to my Toyota Avensis) decided to prove she is a Decepticon. The radio died again. Again. For good. Thank heavens I took the Cain's Offering CD Gather the Faithful outta there. They tried everything to get it back to work, but no avail. The goddamn problem radio stayed blank. Gramps is gonna buy a cheap external player with CD, radio and MP3 hookup to it. I have my doubts. He complains about my financial situation, but then he does that, spends money on me. Rarely, but still...

I'm tired and sore. Both physically and mentally. I feel useless. I guess my only option would be send an email to the curator, but I'm an awkward person when it comes asking things. No wonder all my penpals quit writing with me, since I don't ask any questions. Usually. In the workshop, all the little questions, like simple one like: Why? was met with irritation and claims that I'm highly negative person. No wonder I stopped questioning anything. I'm raising my hands in defeat.
I'm gonna be singing this when I can leave Powerpark behind me for good. I hate that place.

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