It's simple, I love who I am and that isn't going to change. I am from Colorado yet hate the Broncos. I love the wilderness and hunting and no animal rights activist can tell me how to live my life. I love my beloved fraternity Pi Kappa Phi and don't know what I would do without my brothers.
This is a suicide note. By the time you lay it aside (and you should always read these things slowly, on the lookout for clues or giveaways), [I] will no longer exist. Or at any rate that’s the idea. You never can tell, though, with suicide notes, can you? In the planetary aggregate of all life, there are many more suicide notes than there are suicides. They’re like poems in that respect, suicide notes: nearly everyone tries their hand at them some time, with or without the talent. We all write them in our heads. Usually the note is the thing. You complete it, and then resume your time travel. It is the note and not the life that is cancelled out. Or the other way round. Or death. You never can tell, though, can you, with suicide notes. To whom is the note addressed? To Martina, to Fielding, to Vera, to Alec, to Selina, to Barry — to [me]? No. It is meant for you out there, the dear, the gentle.
Props to anyone who knows what this is from.