For this one we were told to write a letter to ourselves, six months in the future. This is what I came up with…
If you are reading this, it means that I have failed. Well… You have failed… We have failed… Well bollocks, you know what I mean. My, your, our stay in hospital has not wrought the dramatic change in our psyche that we required. You/I have returned to the pit of despondency and outright terror which necessitated institutionalisation. Thus, it would appear that a few reminders are in order.
One: You/I clearly are a likeable guy… Likeable guys… Whatever. Jesus. We/you/I have lots of friends and socialise like a boss. Although…shit, if you’re reading this it might mean that your/our/my social life has gone all to hell in a handbasket. Ok, scratch that one.
Let’s start again… One: People appear to like the sound of your voice. Narrating stuff, talking on the radio, voice-over work…. It’s all good shit, apparently. Although technically you haven’t actually been paid for any of that yet so… Bloody hell, this really isn’t going well.
Um… How about… You write fairly sorta kinda alright-ish. Except that last sentence. That was crap. Most of the time though, you can construct an impressive paragraph or two. On a good day. When you’re not too mopey.
God, I hope nothing has happened to your writing hand. Otherwise, we/you/I are/am dead.
Solidarity, brothers & sisters… ❤