Lost Mail

Dear Dan,

I don't really know if this bothers you at all, but you're kind of a hero. I mean, more than once, I've opened my mouth to say something really important, something goddamn crucial, and nobody listens. Not a damn one. And yet you've got this awesome superpower that allows you say more in silence than I could ever try to put into stuttering, awkward speech.

Oh well. I think there was a poet once who spoke of the world as the struggle of gods and men. Some are destined for great things. Some are destined to die trying in futility. I have no idea which I'll be, and in the end, maybe it won't even matter.

In any event, my writing projects are coming along. At the front of my mind, I'm excited. At the back, I'm afraid. I'm always afraid that I'm attacking something too audacious, and in attempting to write something too grand, somebody will leap out and call me a fool. Someone always does. I don't know if you face the same problem, but I hardly doubt it'd bother you. I try not to let it bother me, but I'm nothing if not half anxiety. I think that's what killed me in the press, and now whenever I put pen to paper, so to speak, I just remember that year. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say you and the guys were about the only saving grace in that miserable, drunken stupor of a year. I don't think I ever got to properly thank you - all of you - for helping me keep my sanity during that time. Sanity, and maybe even a little hope.

Anyway. I've written and rewritten this entry about three times, trying very hard not to sound like I'm coming on to you. Consider this a written man-pat on the back. Now, let's go shoot/cut something.

-G