Helloooo, Gandalf. How’s life.
We are now 6 writing days into this journal. That’s not a very important number but I feel like celebrating a milestone event so this is officially The First Sixth Of Letters To Gandalf, or TFSOLTG for short.
In three days, or the day after the day after tomorrow, I’m going to have my surgery. You know I’ve been eagerly awaiting my reset. I still am. I intend to use this surgery as some manner of break in my life, and propel myself to a different plane of being after waking up. I hope I feel sufficiently different enough as to be able to do so. I have the responsibility of fixing up my mess, and I intend to seize it with this hopefully life changing moment. I’ll update you on that as we get closer and closer.
I’m in a fairly good state of mind right now, though, Gandalf. All this dread talk considered. It may not be particularly wise, but I’m feeling rather optimistic about finishing 20 books over the course of the holidays. I’m already a few in. Napoleon, After The Prophet, Sayings of Mao, and now this philosophy thing. That’s three and a half, which is a fairly good start I should think.
I’ve renamed the cat which was once known as Donald Trump. Yup, she survived, her eye has healed, and she’s roaming around outside the house again. I completely forgot to tell you. Her new name is Kalipatra.
Amnah seems to be in a more chatty mood again, it’s a nice turn of events. Don’t worry though, I’ll still write to you. I won’t stop that anytime soon now, Gandalf. Do you suppose she’s actually chatty again, or might it be artificially induced by my impending surgery? Either way, she’s planning to meet me tomorrow (two hours early!), so I suppose I’ll find out. I am happy, though.
Khan and OJ proved utterly useless at providing me with stories of any sort. I was rather bored by their attempts to narrate horrifying incidents. We did go on a walk of his neighbourhood at night, though. We found this rather interesting unlit pathway, and followed it for a while. There was an illumination in the distance, emerging from a lone hut with wireframe barriers all around it. We didn’t feel quite brave enough to venture further, and decided to back off from there. OJ pretended he was afraid of dogs. None of us heard the slightest barking.
At the risk of sounding heartless, Gandalf, you’d think that a room inhabited by the recently deceased would have a more horrifying atmosphere. As it stands, there was no such thing. That room is a happy room, untainted by any memories of its not long ago past. It’s rather odd. I’m very impressionable. Why isn’t this coffin making an impression on me? I find the rest of the house colder and more lifeless in comparison. From the burned away ceilings and unclean floor of the kitchen to the walls dotted by old photographs in the rest of the house, it’s definitely one which makes an impression. Odd, isn’t it, that the room where people actually passed from this world into another, is the one which appears the cleanest and safest. Not that it’s clean. Lizards and cockroaches abide, as you know. Nor does Khan seem to go to any pains to clean it. I found a candy there, easily identifiable as remains from a sleepover two weeks ago.
Got to run, Gandalf. I’ll write more later.