It’s been a few years since I’ve written to you, and I’m still alive. A lot has happened in these past years, a lot of awful things, some good things, and then the indifference. A global pandemic happened, some say it’s over but I think the jury is still out on that one. This whole COVID thing has really fucked things up and changed everything. I spent months alone in my apartment, as so many of us did, it was a new kind of hell for so many people, it was just a different brand of hell for myself. I was in a car accident, Wepeel (my trusty 2009 Volvo XC70) was murdered by a Beck’s Cab driver who fell asleep at the wheel on the Danforth Bridge. I was left without my road trip pal and also a brain injury which put me on the bench for 6 months while I learned how to be myself again. I confused lust for love, created things I never imagined I could, pined for the person I used to be, and felt like a stranger in my own body. I moved across the country, changed jobs, fell in love, had my heart broken, and tried to patch it up. Depression found me again, or the new me whatever I am now. We used to have a peace treaty but that was with who I used to be and not who I am now, so a new war has started. I miss my friends, I miss myself, I’m hopeful and hopeless. I look forward to every day as much as I dread them. It’s been 40 odd years and I’m no closer to figuring out why, but I’m still alive despite myself.