I wonder if you remember writing this? Or if the space-time continuum frizzles a bit so you don’t, and it’s a wee bit of a surprise? Who knows? Well, probably me when I’m reading this in the future.
You’ve probably got heaps you want to tell me, but as we’ve seen with 17 and 12 year old me, writing letters to them doesn’t seem to change what happens to us, so unless you want to write Lottery results to me, I’ll pass.
I’m writing to you to …. To just say I’m doing my best. I know its not fantastic, but I know you know how much I struggle (and how much of that struggle is my own doing) but I am trying. My best could be better if I really tried.
I read this quote last week, where your body is doing everything it can to keep you alive, and I thought that was pretty cool. I should find it for you, so you don’t forget.
Am I doing everything okay? Is there anything I should change to make life easier for us in the future? Oh, how I wish I could ask you what I should do or change before paths are set in stone.
I hope you’re still running, or at least trying to run. I hope you still have most of the friends you have now, and have made more. I hope you have found someone who loves you, but if you haven’t, I hope you’ve worked out how to love yourself. I hope you still have pets, and I really hope Owen and/or are either still around being judgmental yet loving, or that they passed away peacefully in their sleep.
I hope one day you get a dog.
I hope you worked out how to crochet, and that you make things for people with the skill. I hope you have gotten to London on a holiday.
I hope you are happy and well. And I really hope that someone has finally invented an incredibly fast and reasonably priced way to travel overseas.
I’ll try to stop falling over so much. I Promise. Oh! And moistursing! I promise to try to start moisturizing more.
With much love,
Your younger self.
(P.S. Can you at least send me a sign that Richard Grieco turns his life around and gets crazy good looking again? Yes? No?)