By now you’re certainly aware that you do not exist. Sure, there is a George out there. There are even a couple of Georges that I have met along the way. But you George, are not real. I’m going to be a dick and use your monicker for my own end– which is to try and keep me motivated to write more regularly.
Some of what I write you will be true. Some of what I write you I may believe to be true, but may be wildly inaccurate. And some of what I write will be, to put it bluntly, will be complete and utter bullshit. You will be my audience of truth and lies and you will enjoy it. You will enjoy it because I will you to enjoy it. You are a figment of my creativity after all. Maybe you might even write me back sometime, however let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.
Moving on, then.
Today was a day like any other, which is to say that I woke up, I broke my fast (I will never use this George R.R. Martin device again, I swear on the blood of every last Stark), and went Building 2 to commence with my day’s classes. Also, thanks to modern travel and the ongoing use of time-zones, I began commemorating my birthday more than a full twenty-four hours before my actual time of birth. This creates an intersting void where well-wishes feel either late, or being unconciously witheld or forgotten. It’s true that I am generally unconcerned with birthday greetings, but I am always half-prepared for them. It is now the end of my day, and only now, just as I prepare for bed, that I am starting to recieve a small wave of them.
There is more to say George, but I grow weary. More shall come. Some letters may be larger, and some may be smaller. But they will come.
Regards from the front lines,