Dear John,
Just got your email - is now soon enough? Today was - pardon my French - bordélique. There's not really an English translation - somewhere between "messy" and "fucked up," perhaps? The last few days, actually. My latest round of meetings did not go well and now I'll have three times the work trying to clean up the debris. I didn't let myself check for anything from you until I'd worked things through to a stopping point, mostly to prevent myself from refreshing my mailbox every ten minutes when I needed to be focusing elsewhere.
I'm not really looking forward to Christmas either. I hate being away from home, I hate not being able to do anything productive while I wait for a bunch of idiots to straighten themselves out, and I hate that I can't spend it with you. Not that I'd presume to commandeer your holiday, of course, but it would be nice to spend it with someone who is actually in my presence voluntarily. Nobody celebrates it here (Christianity is not the dominant religion) so at most, Christmas will be just a date on the calendar. I'll probably spend it somewhere uncomfortable, waiting. Again.
I hope you don't hate me for saying this, but your former flatmate - "seriously bloody brilliant" or not - was an idiot for letting you go. I'm glad you have a friend to get you through the holiday. You shouldn't have to spend it alone.
- William