July 23rd, 2003
Nothing to write about unless the unusual sleeping patterns of ex-Initiative prisoners interests anyone. I spend most of my time sleeping and trying to regain my strength. Food doesn't seem to appeal to me, though I force down what I must to go on. The sheer thought of attempting magicks makes my head pound. What I wouldn't give for a simple mood spell, something to lift my spirits enough to ignore the aches and forget my troubles.
I'm right outside Las Vegas at the moment, in a sleepy little sandy town. Being the entrepreneur I am, I sold the rest of my pills off to some local drug dealers. Told them they were samples for a new treat shipping out from Los Angeles. They were very eager to hand over a roll of bills in trade for the mixed bag I offered. Have no idea what they would do to a normal person. Can't say I even knew what they were doing to or for me. I kept the labels in case I need to get some more, but I hope I can deal with out them. Well, I can always turn to our old friend Jack, though I always preferred tequila.
Here's to you, Ripper.