Dear Past Self,
I’ve traveled back in time to give you some advice because right now, I’m a little pissed off. You probably don’t care (which is why you’re indulging in this “rut,” you pussy) but because you’re not going to be around to deal with the consequences, I felt the need to bring them into sharper relief:
You’re fucking up. You’re fucking it all up.
Every day you waste feeling sorry for yourself because you don’t feel “excited” or “energized by the material” is another step you’re falling behind the goals that way-past self set. Now, I think those were good goals and, frankly, I like way-past self way more than you, past self.
If you don’t stop, I’m going to kick us in the balls.
Way-way-past self spent so much time working so that we could even have this opportunity. Way-past-self understood and respected that sacrifice and carried on the tradition and I’m just waiting for you to pass me the torch so I can take us even further. So pass me the torch.
Or just sit there collecting ash on your lap, you lazy shit.
I don’t want to do anything drastic. The last time a future-self had to take the place of a past-self prematurely was in college to end the great marijuana period and to get us in shape. Not only do we not remember anything that happened while pot-self was around but that move (while necessary) came too late to get us into medical school in the US. Do you think I’m going to wait around much longer for you to get your act together before I erase you from our consciousness?
If you hadn’t read Enoch Arden yesterday, I would have already done it.