It's now time for just the terror with Nick Guerra.

A letter to myself. I've been on my knees trying to scrub up all this blood in the

scraps of paper for the last half hour. I'm making some progress, but it's slow

and I keep having a stop when my hands start shaking too much. I'm out of my apartment for the moment,

sitting on the floor in the hallway, and I can feel my nerves settling some.

I'm going to write this out so I'll have it all recorded and also so I can wait a bit before having to go back in.

It started when I was bored yesterday.

The internet was out in my apartment and after casting about a couple of hours trying to read or do some cleaning

I was out of ideas to entertain myself.

That's when I saw the box of stationary on my desk.

My aunt Emma had given me the stationary as a birthday gift the week before,

and there was nothing inherently wrong with such a gift.

It was a box of high quality paper and envelopes personalized with my initials at the top of the sheets of paper and on the backfold of the envelopes.

As a 70 year old man, I would probably have thought they were the cat's pajamas, but as a 25 year old man, not so much.

But still, I was very bored. So I sat down on my desk and started messing around with it.

At first, I tried writing as neatly and fancily as I knew how.

My handwriting is horrible, and my best efforts look like a slow fourth grader as opposed to a

slower second grader but it was something to do. Then I doodled a bit but my drawing

skills are equally lacking. I was feeling myself getting drowsy but then a thought occurred to me of what to do with the stationary

I'd write a letter to myself was a stupid idea but I thought it was kind of funny too.

So I took out a clean sheet of paper and set to work.

Hey Scott, how are you today?

...