Dear Mr. Horror,
What a wonderful year we’ve had, we never thought we’d make it to the end; but it’s starting to look like we just might.
I wish to commend you on your accomplishment on being a constant reminder of why it was important to get out of bed every day. Though the weather has gotten colder, and I’ll admit the comfort of my bed makes it that much difficult to resist the urge to fall back asleep; I’ve been able to do it thus far.
My skin is thicker now and I’m constantly reminding myself of, if it wasn’t you for, it would have withered with time.
I don’t go out as much as I used to, and I’ve learnt to value the comfort of solitude. It helps keep the noise down, though it still feels quite loud in my brain at times.
We made progress, we never thought we would — even though it felt a lot like failure and the urge to quit was always there, still is.
Your stay with us was far over-due, we’d forgotten what it felt like to feel uncomfortable, to be reminded of how ungrateful we’d been.
Since you asked, I wanted to let you know that Season 2 of Making a Murderer was pretty shit and The Staircase let me utterly confused.
I still smoke cigarettes, albeit I have reduced to restraining myself to just three. I don’t do it in public, in fact I don’t do much of anything except for focusing on making sense of the tragedies and persevering with grace.
Jotting down bits and pieces in my black flip notebook of what I can remember and the rest of what I can make out of it. Every day is an opportunity for finding another piece of the puzzle, and whilst the picture is still too difficult to be deemed discernible; I’ve named it abstract art for now.
A lot of very bad people went to jail, and I wanted to thank you for that; though I never wish anybody misery — I think it was a necessary evil to remind us to be more vigilant.
The only complain I have is, I can’t watch “The Usual Suspects” anymore; it sends shivers down my spine, even though I felt I had the ability to differentiate the art from the creator.
House of Cards came to an end, and the last season was just as brutal as the first one. They went full throttle on it, and I’ll admit I’m still confused. I guess that’s what you get when you put your faith in David Fincher.
I got rid of my car, because I don’t drive much anymore and I’m starting to learn the value of saving money.
I gave up soft-drinks, and try to keep a decent diet — I think I’ll finally compete in my first kickboxing competition next year.
Idris Elba was named the Sexiest Man of the Year, and I’ll admit — he is a sexy piece of ass. Some people were offended because he’s too manly.
I didn’t mind it, I admit his talent.
Tom Hardy has had a great year too and it seems like we might never get a sequel to Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy; though Gary Oldman did finally get his Oscar.
I believe a rapper is going to jail, and I’m not too sure if I care much.
I’ve realised it’s not okay to care, sometimes?
Some things just don’t require my attention nor my energy, quite frankly my work leaves no time for me to pay attention to anything else.
It’s a simple life, and though it feels like the end; I do hope you’ll visit again, hopefully not soon.
I think we’ve had enough of you this year, Mr. Horror.
I’m sure you’ll visit with us again, and we can learn to cope better when you do return.
Until then, I’ll suggest you watch The Haunting of Hill House and read Principles by Ray Dalio.
The Undoing Project was a great book, I’ll admit I skimmed through it too quickly and might read it again.
Down and Out in Paris and Londons still remains where we left it, it’s been read nearly a dozen times — and I’ve yet to grow tired of reading it.
I found out Rashida Jones is in fact Quincy Jones’ daughter, and that nobody should ever diss Eminem’s daughter.
I still take pleasure in annoying vegans, and occasionally eat hamburgers in front of them to test their patience.
I do admit, I took pleasure when Aziz Ansari’s career got destroyed; not because of the false allegation but because I always found his voice annoying, I guess that makes me a jerk too.
There’s much work to be done, so regrettably I’ll have to keep working the miserable job to keep this gig going.
The highlight of my career was my client accidentally sending me a dick-pic, and I’m still unsure whether it was to test my sexuality or an embarrassing slip up; sadly, the dick-pic did cost me the project — I think I might’ve hurt his ego.
I finally bought a new suit, though I’ve yet to wear it.
I learnt a few new fancy words, and some we’re not allowed to use anymore; hence made redundant.
Well, Mr. Horror that’s all I had to say.
It was kind of you to visit with us again.
Until next time when we do find each other at a later time, I hope it’s not too much of a stretch to assume that the next year will be any different for you than it was mine.
Valium induced Nabeel.