SH.HP: A Study in RoseMore Like This
November 20, 1984
God, I’m absolutely barking for starting this. I don’t even know how to address you. It’s like I’m talking to someone without a name, and that makes this entire thing so much harder than it already is. I don’t know how people write journals without feeling like pompous prats.
All right, I’m going to assume there’s a reader, and I will address you, reader, as if I’m writing to you right now.
I’m not a pompous prat, by the way. I just feel like an idiot, writing here in this journal assuming that one day, someone will consider what I have to say here worth reading. That’s the pompous bit: that this is even interesting.
Oh, but it is. Well, sort of. That’s the only reason I’ve even come to this point – I feel like something strange has happened, or is going to happen, or –
I’m not getting anywhere. Let me start again.