Dear Me of Yesteryear

Dear Me of Yesteryear,
How’s it been goin’? Well, actually, I guess I already sorta have the answer to that question… it seems like only yesterday you were a pudgy little red-faced brat.
In actuality, it’s probably been a little longer, but what do I know?
Anyways, if by some miracle, we’ve perfected the art of time travel Future You (which is really just Present Me) has taken it upon himself to warn you.
Depending when this reaches you, I hope I have enough time to warn you about Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace but if I’m already too late, please allow me to share in your disappointment.
But that’s not the sole purpose of this letter.
In fact, there are many things I should warn you of…
At the age of 18, you’ll decide to apply to art school. Don’t. It’s a trap.
At the age of 20, you’ll feel compelled to laugh when your aunt and uncle read from the Bible on Christmas Eve. Sadly, they’re not joking.
Perhaps most important, in the summer of your 21st year, you’ll feel compelled to raise money and run the Chicago marathon to support an HIV/AIDS outreach program. You’ll regret it later.
Besides, what did those people with AIDS ever do for you? Just kidding… although fair warning, you do kinda grow up to be an asshole.
But seriously, enjoy the whole childhood thing while it lasts.
It’s not like you’ll get any more mature, but at least when you’re a kid you’ve still got an excuse to act like an entitled little shit.
Future You


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