ELE's short story time 1: Sand Planet

I thought I’d actually write something and post it here. It’s about time.

Entry 347:
So far there’s been no luck finding the oasis. I’ve been wandering out here two days and half that time I’ve been picking sand out of my screen; having to replace whatever breaks next with whatever scraps of metal I find in the dunes, but I guess that’s nothing new.
A few more hours of searching I finally found it. Any source of water here is scarce, calling it water is an overstatement though.
I scraped up whatever organic matter I can from the dried sludge and pocketed it. By this point I’ve learned my way around and can make it back to camp by next morning. Of corse there’s a sandstorm in the way. Great.
Without having any sort of cover I laid down on my back and looked up at the sky. Other than me, it’s the only blue thing here in the endless desert. As I lied here I reminisced about… well… everything. I reminisce about the lights, the colors, the dancing, and the music. That was my favorite part from what I remember.
I tried by best to dig into my memories but only sand and the faint glimmer of past events that I struggle to hold onto. Unable to remember anything clearly, I just make up a tune and quietly sang it to myself through my congested speaker. If only I could remember the tune now. It was a lovely tune.
A few hours later and the storm has subsided and I get up from my shallow sandy grave. Most of me is ok, emphasis on most. My breastplate, right shin, and most of my abdomen’s been gnarled by the wind. I don’t even what to think about what that did to my insides.
After I limp my way back to camp I hand over the bag of dried up death and desperation. Guy only gives me two casings. Two casings. In exchange for nearly getting myself killed to fetch some fancy wet dirt for him. I gave him a look of disdain and dropped the bag on the ground and hobbled back to my tent.
When I get there all that’s there is a kicked over tent with the words “D**M MACHINE” hastily cut into the fabric rendering it useless; my stuff scattered all over the sand. Conveniently, The more expensive stuff is nowhere to be found. I fix myself up, gather my things, and leave. Clearly I’m not wanted here.
I keep going, and going, and going. I don’t bother to remember most of the people at the camp. I hardly ever remember the guy’s face who scammed me. Doesn’t matter now, I’ve got a new place to go now. It’ll be my birthday soon and I want to celebrate it somewhere special to me. Until then, I advance on this sand planet.

So that’s the story. It’s about a moc I haven’t shown off yet (one of my TV-faced robot girls) inspired and based on the song “Sand Planet” by Hachi, which explains the title and the references at the end.
The story isn’t perfect and I’ve never written something in a journal format before and nothing and I’m working out of my comfort zone and I’m not very happy with paragraphs (not that you anything here a real paragraph) 2&3. But I’d love any sort of critique anyone gab give me to improve my writing. Thanks for reading and in hope you enjoyed.