Dear FutureMe,

I am a little bit tired and weary. I am weary for lack of sleep and weary for loneliness. I am trying to concentrate on using my vivid imagination towards achieving my goals, and it’s hard work, harder than imagining that I am a pretty pretty princess and my butch knight is on the way with a golden horse to carry me off into the wilds of ancient, pagan Europe forever.

That would be pretty bitchin’.

PastMe

Dear FutureMe,

Goddammit, my room smells. I am so tired of boots. Febreze doesn’t do shit. When I get this in a fucking year, I hope by then I’ve been able to buy some new goddamn boots that aren’t still carrying around mildew spores from Mount fucking Katahdin.

I think I am angry today because I failed, and pretended it was okay to fail, but I don’t actually think it’s okay to ever fail.

PastMe.

Dear Future Me,

I started thinking about killing myself in the snow yesterday, but I forced it to pass. Today I sent an e-mail back to the woman in charge of the national Take Back the Tap campaign for Portland, Maine. I had to tell her about my interests. I gave her the usual resume: Wilde Stein, RA, Progressive Student Alliance.

My real interests this semester include losing enough weight to fit into my jeans, figuring out if anyone can every conceive of my as a sexual being ever, fighting off depression and getting a car somehow.

I hope this reaches you in good health.

Yours,

Past Me