I can't tell you my name, although I wish I could. To tell you the truth there may be a lot of things durating my writings which I can not explain in greater detail to you and for that I apologise in advance. I don't really even know why I am writing this...is it becuase I am now sick of the loneliness? Possibly. You spend so much time with only your own company and it does begin to get a bit lonely. Of course I do have my career, if that's what you call posting letters through doors every morning. I don't. A career is something I always imagined would be something I would have but somewhere along the line I got bogged down in real life. I got chucked out of my house the week I turned eighteen. Nice hey?
Happy birthday son, now fuck off out of the house and don't come back. You've cost us a small fortune all of these years, here's a suitcase, pack your stuff, go down to the council and get a flat, and here, here's this week's job section in the paper. They're recruiting for posties, go and see them.
And so that is what I did, I got the job at the Royal Mail, I would wake every morning early, and spend my life posting letters through total stranger's doors. I'd then get home, and there I would stay. That was my life for a long time but then the 'accident' happened and I had to stay at home full time, losing my job andf self respect and living like an invalid until last night, last night everything changed...forever.