1:58 PM- 2:00 PM, March 7, 2020

You know, Andy, I've had a pretty fucking bad day today, and I don't think anything can get sadder than what happened five minutes ago.

So I found a sticky note with your phone number on it, right? And I thought, 'Well, he didn't respond to me when I texted him, so maybe I'll call him.'

It's not your fault, but guess what? You motherfucker. It seems like you have a different phone number now. It's either your mother's name was Gale and you just gave me your mother's number, or you don't have your fucking phone number anymore.

I've been trying to get into contact with you for the past bit now, but it's always in a hopeless manner. Editing Google Docs, crying... praying. Asking around to see if anybody's heard of you— but nobody's gotten back to me on that, which is kind of hilarious if you think about it. I wonder if you're trying to avoid me.

Then again, why would you? We knew each other four years ago now, and we were way younger back then. To the point where idiocy or narcissism could be excused, hopefully.

I guess, really, I just... I guess I'm still just a narcissist. I'm just trying to get back to you. I chose you to worry about so that I don't have to think about how shitty my life is, and so I guess maybe I'm glad that that wasn't your number.

(No, but seriously, Andy, if you're out there, PM me my dude.)