Dear Glenn,
"You are such a masochist," said a voice inside my head. Somehow, I found it in myself to disagree. I mean, I don't exactly get any satisfaction whatsoever in grammatically bitchslapping myself to hell and back at every opportune moment. This is just my nature; the way I am put together. I believe this is what's keeping me grounded, considering I've always felt that I am genetically predisposed to arrogance. And with that tediously predictable disclaimer out of the way, let us proceed, shall we?
Aside from a well-thought text message, you never did officially respond to my previous letter. So I just decided to pick up from where I left off and continue with this prospectively one-sided correspondence.
So where, rhetorically, was I? Well, I know where I am, but do you? We never did get to meet up the last time I was there, did we? And here the questions stop. I can actually take a hint, you know. It appears you need some space. That said, it's now being freely given with complete understanding and without any ill whatsoever.
You know where to find me.
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