Now that Frodo-lad is gone, it's time for me to be on my way. I'm sorry to have lied to Frodo-lad, but I had no choice. I may never be back again. If that is the case, the Shed Smial and all that is in it I leave to him in this will.
When I walk into Barad-dur, I may never walk out again. So I must remember to try the pizza *before* I go in--they say the Mordor-baked ones are the best--mustn't forget.
Here I am, on my way to Mordor. To kill or be killed, I suppose. That is if I survive this bus trip.
And suddenly, I miss the Shire. I miss dear Samwise, of course, and my brother Frodo. I even miss seeing them fight and make-up: watching them do that was always such a wonderful validation of all of my most unhealthy responses to emotional intimacy--where else can you find that?
I miss Fatty and his wonderful hat, of course. I miss Anaire and her endearing snobbery, and little Bingo clone and the way looking at him would remind me not to drink too much. I also miss Sancho's hat. Of course I miss Trotter--I couldn't let him know I was going because he would have stopped me. And I miss that little Frodo-lad. I hope he forgets about all this and doesn't hang-on to the idea of going--that could be bumpy for him, but he's young--he'll recover.
I mustn't keep thinking this way--I'll lose my nerve if I do. "Only cows and trees"! Really, that Sauron MUST be stopped!