So I cheated. I wrote a letter to you beforehand. I'd thought to myself, "Well! Aren't I just clever, I'll copy and paste and no one will be aware, except for Kathryn, who is clued in on my plans!"
Well, I didn't consider that I'd have this lovely new addition to the fam, and that I'd have to copy all my documents onto Stanley and then I'd have to hunt through. I mean, I kidnapped the hard drive (yeah, bad me) but I haven't bothered to get technologically consolidated and whatnot.
Be that as it may, a letter.
I've realised as of late that I'm going to seriously miss you next year. This is if our grand plans go ahead and we participate in our fleeing the current unit, one lounge under an arm and a TV under the other, to new places.
I mean, even when you sit next to Stanley and I and continually beg, "Can I use it? Can I use it? Can I use it?" (which, to let you know, Stanley does not like being referred to as an 'it'), it's still vaguely amusing. I particularly enjoy the musings which are aloud but make no sense once outside your head:
So it's like my Jiminy Cricket. I like Jiminy Cricket. But I wasn't a huge fan of the movie. What's it called? Pinocchio.
How weird would I look with no pinky?And then your striding in with an excited plan which to yet has not come into fruition:
Right, Tash, here's what we're going to do.And your going along with random things I find, via Google.
Really? That's weird. I am a little teapot. Short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout.The gist and nub of it is, you are a grand brother.
Although it'd be really nice if you got over the delusion that I'm going to a nunnery. As I do not particularly adhere to one denomination of Christianity, but rather the faith as a whole, it's a little difficult to do such a thing. Also, I'm not sure if you knew this, but I'm a fan of the outside world. As much as you don't see me leave the house, I do like knowing that I can, if I so choose.
I think it is your turn to call the real estate, because I really don't want to.
Buy those Whitlams tickets, please, I want to see them play their shenanigans.
And thank you for allowing me to Potterly rant to you. It's odd that you allow my tone of authority that I usually reserve for Shakespearean/poetic knowledge to exist amongst my Potter educating. If only you allowed the Beatles.
Shrankye for having such a... caring attitude towards my death. That I will be tossed in a river is a comfort. It is also a comfort knowing that I am so looked after in regards to my virtue, per se. Your acceptance of lewd comments made towards me (though not really lewd, but still) simply because it was 'a good call' is nothing short of brotherly love, and I am pleased you care.
That last paragraph, yes, my sarcasm hand was raised, but I still love you for it.
Love your youngest and only sister,
yeah, that one who'd be homeless were it not for you.