Thanks for giving me this chance, I promise I’m going to work my ass off to write some really good shit for you to read. I swear I will. I’m sorry I haven’t yet. It’s not my fault though. When I wrote you last, I was in a really dark place—I couldn’t help but think the morbid thoughts that create unfiltered, brilliant masterpieces. But then things started getting better. I’m dating again after a rough breakup. I’ve been going to events on weekends. I’ve been feeling my age again. I want to move freely and meet people. I want to feel the warmth of other fleshy human beings on me. I know that achieving my lifelong goal of being an accomplished writer who’s respected for his intelligence and contributions to society will help me achieve this goal, but I’ve also realized that lifting heavier weights at the gym does just as well.
I will get you those writing samples, Frank, but I haven’t due to an as-of-yet unmedicated and undiagnosed case of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.