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Hello there

This is the first page of Dan's book.  I didn't realise how much of him I remembered until I read this.  I'd forgotten all about the fat people on buses rant, and the humour.  I was hooked shortly after the third paragraph...

Hello there.

 

My name is Danny Lizar.  I’m not so strange once you scratch the surface.  There are many normal things about me. 


I get annoyed when fat people sit next to me on a bus and take up more than half of the seat.  The word ‘pamphlet’ makes me shudder when I hear it, and I don’t know why.  I think my taste in music is better than anyone’s that I have known in my lifetime.  When people say I’m middle-class I assume that it’s a bad thing.  I don’t understand the offside rule.  I’ve been in love and I’ve thought I’ve been in love, all at the same time.  I think I only found my true identity when I moved away from my hometown.  I find all ‘that’s what she said’ jokes funny, bar none.  I have never, and will never, have any interest in writing a blog.  I stammer when girls that are out of my league talk to me, and I spit into the urinal before I take a leak.  I kind of think I’m too old to have posters on my wall, but too young to have framed pictures.  I’m twenty one years old today, and once I’ve finished this little introduction I’m going to kill myself.  Okay, so the last one is a little unusual. 


Not many can spend their final few weeks on this earth writing their autobiography, a to-the-minute summary of all that has occurred within their lifespan.  But most of us leave this world not of our own volition.  Most of us make the decision to hang on in there as if life is some precious gift that we must savour every moment of.  Not me.  I’ve run my course and the day I finish writing my life story – today - is the day I have chosen to die.

 


 

If this has made it into print and been placed in the Painful Lives section of Waterstones, please pick me up and take me to the counter and inform someone – anyone – that there has been some terrible mistake.  I hope in these pages you won’t be seeking blame, or trying to work out who made it all go wrong for me.  I blame myself on the whole; myself, circumstance, and maybe something genetic.

 

I just want you to know that by the time you read this, I will be dead.  There isn’t going to be a reprieve, or a shock twist that changes everything at the last second.  I will not be spared.  This isn’t about whether or not I die.  It’s about how I’ve lived.  I’ve written this primarily for the people who have known me, who have misunderstood me because I couldn’t work out how to tell them the truth.  Now I think I know how to do it, it’s kind of too late.  Hooray for irony.  There are some things I want people to understand about me, and I don’t mind if they still judge me then.  I just need to record my side of the story before I’m unavailable to tell it for myself.

 

See ya.