figuratively and allegorically shot

Diary, I know it’s hard to believe but after an absence from O.D. I find I have once again begun a new financial endeavor, let’s say yes, indeed.  I am no longer the concierge of fuck, left Kyle in charge of Sector Exe, as a matter of fact.  Things kind of went pear shaped after Extreme killed himself. 

Diary, it’s – I don’t know what time it is, Diary, I’ve
been figuratively and allegorically shot. I was out for a while and I can’t reach my
sea legs. The sky’s getting light in about 8 hours, I can hear birdsong already (not really, not so much). I’m
lying on the floor of my own remorse. There is a great deal of
pain and a fair amount of blood. I seem to remember
three shots, all to the midsection. Mark fired one, my gingerbread man fired the second and Extreme fired the last.  I was wearing my bullet proof bustier, per Management regulations when on call, but
even so, if you can imagine someone dropping three
bowling balls on your chest from a height of about nine
feet you might begin to approximate the sensation.
Anxiety’s a bitch.
That said, being shot is not as appalling as I had
always imagined it might be. If you can manage to
keep the dread from your psyche. Then again, I suppose
you could say that about almost anything in life: it’s not
so ghastly if you can manage to
keep the dread from your psyche..
(mmm…. I’m mulling it over once again)
In times like this, remarkably, you frequently think of
all the things you regret, or all the things you missed. I
would like, universally, to treat humans with much more
notice and deference. I would like to take a trip on the train, sit in
the dining car and watch the scenery go by. I wish I could
write a bestseller but right now I’ll have to settle for working as a bestseller’s personal chef instead. Three and a half days work; four clients. All in all, a very interesting seasonal summer experience.

Love,

Sin