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Preliminary checks

Seems strange to say, but it's taken me a day or so to get beyond that title page.  'The Almost Lizard,' by Dan Lizar.  An unseen novel by a dead friend, sent to you by a stranger who tracks you down and asks for your e-mail address.

I spent most of yesterday playing a game of cat and mouse with my laptop.  I searched for 'Alex Proctor' on Facebook and came up with 165 potential people.  Once you took out the women, it narrowed it down a little and I eventually found one matching the face I'd met on Saturday.  Privacy settings are a bitch, that's all I can say.  There should be some sort of caveat in place that means if someone is going to approach you out of the blue and do weird things to you, they by law have to share their information with you. 

I also wanted to e-mail him back, in spite of what he said.  The problem was setting the tone.  I kind of wanted to tell him that his message was quite rude in tone and that I have every right to contact him to ask what the hell was going on.  I also didn't want to scare him.  I'd never heard of Alex Proctor, before.  I'd never heard of anyone in Dan's life who I didn't already know.  We were all pretty single-minded in uni, having too much fun to actually ask about anyones' lives.

All these questions have appeared in the past couple of days.  I seriously thought I'd buried Dan.  He was dead to us long before he committed suicide.  We'd all moved on. 


That's another thing I wanted to ask this Alex bloke.  Why the hell does he think I would care about this?

And, why, despite myself, do I?  Admittedly it's all intruiging and my life is particularly dull at the moment.  But I could have gone through life without ever really wondering what became of Dan Lizar.  He was just some bloke from uni. 

Now, though, there's a book, and a story, and I'm scared of it.  I was formerly scared of it because I thought it was a novel about us.  I thought he'd gone and written some fictional account about our lives that implicated me in something.  I wanted to know but couldn't bear to look.   Pretty much the way I feel about checking my bank account.

Thing is, I'm just playing a game with myself.  Of course I'm going to read it and I've always known that.  I didn't know when I'd cave, but now I can tell you it was twenty minutes ago.

It's not a novel at all.  My old friend Dan wrote his autobiography before he killed himself.  All the questions I forgot I ever had, they could be answered now. 

I'm asking myself whether I'm going to read on whilst knowing full well that I'm already planning on printing it out at work tomorrow. 

How creepy is this?