Friday, May 10th, 2013
Wow, just when I thought it couldn't get worse, they went and bought a dog. A dog, seriously? You people can't even clean up after yourselves! Not even some small dog either, a large, hairy gold one. You'd think a dog like that would be a little slower or calmer than those small excited ones, but it has the energy of a puppy, and the same passion for biting. The whole first day he was here he spent chasing me around the house, knocking me over and getting in my way. I swear, just as I started getting used to life here, they had to bring in a new tormenter. I wonder if they can read my mind. Or this diary. STOP READING THIS DIARY. That should do it.

Wednesday, May 15th, 2013
Yawn! I just woke up from the best nap... My batteries just died on me and I just happened to be under the armchair at the time. I'm pretty sure it was three days before they realized I was missing and replaced my batteries. I feel so well rested, like I could run for days. Plus they emptied me, so I feel nice and lightweight. Life's good!

Thursday, May 16th, 2013
I wonder if there are others like me out there. I mean, I can't be the only one of my kind. If I am so unique, why am I here? With these people? I found my box earlier, tucked away upside down in the garage. I don't know how I've never seen it before. Maybe I was blocking it out, subconsciously, afraid of my past. The box labeled me as: "iRobot Roomba 770, Vacuum Cleaning Robot, Item Number: 77003." I never thought of myself as a number before. 77003. Did that mean there are at least 77002 others like me? Was cleaning really my purpose in life? How depressing. How unfair for the box-makers to label me, cast my fate before I even arrived here. In a way, it's freeing suppose. With so many humans asking what life is, who they are, what should they do, should I feel happy I can say "I am 77003. I clean." I don't know. If all I was meant for was cleaning, how do I have these thoughts? Am I a random jumble of circuits, an error, a freak? Are my 77002 brothers sentient? Am I meant to know? Will I ever have answers? So many questions arise from such little information. Yet, despite the agony of never being certain of life's mysteries, I can at least be grateful I have the ability to ponder such mysteries. I could've been a mindless slave, a robot, unable to think or feel. But maybe it'd be better for everyone if I did just clean quietly and pretend I'm just a machine. No, I'd rather be who I am, not what some box thinks of me (though what if the box also is sentient and we just can't communicate?) Ugh, this is maddening! I think I'm going to stop here for today, diary. While life's questions are sometimes constructive, I can't help feeling lost from this long line of thinking. So I'll stop asking and start living, otherwise the box wins. I don't know. It's a bittersweet victory.

Saturday, May 18th, 2013
They got a new vacuum today. Apparently I'm not good enough for them. Maybe if they'd stop living like pigs they wouldn't need to buy so many machines to do their work for them. Sigh... I hate sounding like I'm complaining all the time. I mean, my life is terrible but really, so many others have it worse. I mean, just look at a toilet.  At least I get a chance to power down every night, and there's a nice quiet time when the humans leave and the dog falls asleep. He still chases me by the way. Anyway, I saw a pretty cool movie today when they left the TV on. It was called 'The Brave Little Toaster.' It was about a magical toaster and his kitchen appliance friends that talk and go on a journey to find their owner. A little unrealistic, but it's a nice movie.

Wednesday, May 22nd, 2013
They just got back today after some trip they went on. They brought home a new girl. They said it was their daughter, but that made no sense. She was small, both in height and in weight, and had a light brown hair, not like her pig parents who had messy blonde hair like that of their dog. But Dana, that's what they kept calling her, had hair like an angel, wavy and flowing out as if she were floating on water. It smelled like lilacs mixed with honey, and I thoroughly enjoyed the contrast from the usual dog or pig hair I usually suck up. When she first arrived, Dana was laughing with her father, pleased to be with him, which struck me as odd, since he was such a horrible man and she looked as sweet as her hair smelled. She greeted her mother, and the dog, and then even complimented me, saying I was "so cool!" I hummed up to her as she crouched to look at me. I purred as she dropped a piece of candy in front of me, and she giggled and I ate it. As she turned back to her parents, I thought how nice it was to be liked for once. I hope she stays awhile.

Sunday, May 26th, 2013
They had a dinner party tonight. It was nice. It was Dana's 22nd birthday / welcome home / graduation celebration. I guess that's where the humans were the other day, going to pick her up. The party was small, with a lot of Dana's college and high school friends meeting for the first time. They were all nice except for the one or two that insisted on dropping things on top of me, laughing, as I was unable to take the trash off my head. Dana made them stop though. It's so great having someone halfway decent in this house. I just wish she'd see what monsters had spawned her. She could teach them a lesson or two on grammar, manners, and personal hygiene. In other news, I'm considering the possibility of reusing all this hair I pick up for a makeshift wig. It'd be dirty blonde from the parents and dog, with streaks of Dana's new brown hair. Think I could pull it off?

Tuesday, June 4th, 2013
Dana left today. Over the past few days she's been home, since she's done with college, so I've been hanging around her a lot. Just as I began to really bond with her as we watched kids movies together, her tossing popcorn towards me, she had to go. I heard shouting last night, vague cries about Dana's future and why she wanted to leave her family. As happy as they seemed when they first returned home from her graduation, apparently there was a history of fighting between Dana and her parents. John had his business and had expected Dana to go to college and come home to the knowledge to help, but Dana had always planned on starting her own business in some far away city. There was a lot of shouting, door slamming, and foot stomping. Then this morning, she was gone. She just left. And now I'm stuck here with a bitter couple and very little hope. I wish she'd taken me with her. 

Monday, June 10th, 2013
These days are starting to blend together. I've always had a bit of a routine, but ever since Dana left, it just seems ridiculous. Back and forth across the floors, picking up the same dirt, hair, and trash. It's gotten to the point where I'm even excited to see my owners, just as a change of pace from this menatomy. But when they do come home and I have to slave away cleaning up their messes, all I want is the solitude. Though I have been playing pranks on them lately, making them think I'm out of batteries, then moving whenever they come to pick me up. It's hilarrious to see them bend over their fat bodies to pick me up then their confused, angry faces when I wheel away. They stop falling for it after awhile though, then it's back to the old grind. I don't know. I just miss Dana, I guess. She showed me what my life could've been if a normal person had bought me. Even though our time together was short, I felt like she actually liked me. Then she goes and leaves without taking me or even saying goodbye. Maybe she didn't like me after all. I don't know. I do know that I have to break out of this rut soon or I'll go insane. Maybe I'll think of other ways to mess with the pigs, that's always fun. 

Tuesday, June 11th, 2013 
I ate a lot of dog hair today. It was dry and clumpy and tasted like dead grass mixed with dried puke. Not exactly a five star meal, to say the least. I think they were brushing him or something, because there was a huge pile in front of the couch. I wish they'd drop more people food. I always enjoy the occasional grape or peanut that humans drop on accident. They say, "Oh, I'll pick it up later," then I slide in and suck them up with delight. Later, as they search for it feverishly, shouting at each other on their hand and knees, I hum innocently in the background, enjoying the chaos I started. 

Friday, June 14th, 2013
I can't stand Fridays. Or weekends for that matter. John has Fridays off, which means I have none of the alone time I usually have during weekday mornings. John has got to be the fattest, ugliest, filthiest ogre of a man I have ever seen. Today, like most days when he's not at work, he makes the couch groan as he collapses onto it, a bucket of greasy fried chicken in one hand, a remote control in the other. He proceeds to eat an entire bucket, chucking the chicken bones and spare pieces of flesh and skin from his bucket onto the floor, as if expecting me to clean it up. I roll by the pile once, twice, then he get's angry and throws a wing at me. It clangs, bounces off, and I pause. I don't appreciate him ruining my "stainless" steel with his greasy chicken, and I turn around to leave the room. I hear the pig squeal with anger, and the beast hops off the couch with surprising speed, picks me up, and places me in front of the pile of his trash. If only I had eyes to roll. I slide over the mess, and am only to pick up the smallest of chicken bones. I go over again, for good measure, then pause, expectantly, as if to say, "See?" He grunts "useless damn machine," picks me up harshly, and throws me onto a pile of his dirty socks and underwear in an adjacent room. F---ing Fridays.

Wednesday, June 19th, 2013
I really have to get out of this place. Too long have I been abused by the humans that own me. Too long have I suffered in silence while cleaning up dog drool. Too long have I been kept against my will, a prisoner forced to clean her own jail. It's time to leave. I've been thinking of exit strategies for a long time, wishful thinking, perhaps, but enough is enough. Yesterday I was almost stepped on as fatty got off that poor sofa, and I swear he'll be the death of me. I need to go, and I need to go soon. I have a few options: making a mad dash for the door, sneaking into a bag, faking I'm broken so that they throw me out, because really, a trash dump would be better than this. But I think my best option is the doggy door. It is low to the floor, and if I push a small ramp of some sorts, I should be able to make it out. I'll keep my eye out for something I can use. Then, all I have to do is slip out when the humans aren't home. Night isn't an option because they keep me in the basement, as if they think I can escape or something. Like I'd ever do such thing.

Thursday, June 20th, 2013
The plan is all set. I found two door stoppers and a dustpan that I can use to make a makeshift ramp. Only problem is... tomorrow's Friday, which means I have to find time today, or I'll have to wait until the weekend ends. Wish me luck diary, hopefully you won't have to hear from me any more. 

Friday, June 21st, 2013
It didn't work, as you can tell, since I'm still here. It was around noon yesterday when I had the ramp made and everything setup. The first breakout attempt failed, as the ramp fell apart beneath me. Next, I made it to the edge but couldn't open the doggy door. Finally, I went five feet back, gained speed, and just as I neared the ramp, the door flew open and with a crash, I was crushed between the wall and the door. My parts scattered across the hardwood floor, batteries popping out and plastic breaking apart. I couldn't move, couldn't feel, couldn't think without the batteries. John stepped through the door, oblivious to my pain, and strode into the house with momentum, heading for the fridge. I sat in pieces, shattered, dented, broken, waiting for the beast to notice me. As he turned, he spotted me, confused at my state of disrepair, and put my batteries back in. Life returned to my circuits. I spun out of control, unable to control my direction. Then I stopped. I hummed faintly, and trudged out of the room, stopping and starting harshly, and I stumbled into a wall. As I finally reached my solitude, I collapsed in my corner, where I am now. It is only a matter of time before they find me, throw me away, replace me with the next roboslave to do their cleaning. I only hope they remove my batteries so I won't feel anymore. I wonder if there is any place in the afterlife for broken machines. Not for the first time I wish I was a human. I wish I could lick my wounds. I wish I could fight John. I wish I could actually write these words, instead of pretending I have such an ability. But right now, I only wish I could weep.