Sometimes I wonder if I will look back ten years from now and find my current self utterly ridiculous. I think this is likely as I sometimes look at myself now and think “you are utterly ridiculous”: every time I am sure that I have ruined my life and discover that I haven’t even ruined my day; each class that I am sure will be the source of my future failure until I remember that ten years from now, no one will want to see my college transcripts; when I become so melodramatic that I am actually able to realize my own melodrama, and inwardly roll my eyes all while still in the midst of a dramatic performance that would rival Ophelia or Lady Macbeth at their worst.

So, anyway, I sort of hope that future me will be amused by current me, that the things that are confusing will have become at least a little less fuzzy, and I will be able to smile good-naturedly at what a silly girl I was. I just want to be able to recognize character development. Then I could write one of those charming letters to my past self (which I will either be writing for some sort of publication in the home that I bought from my book sales, or from  the garage my sister was kind enough to convert into an apartment, scrawling on the back of a napkin as I sit waiting for my last package of ramen to cook).  In this letter I will  detail how naive I was and how wrong about nearly everything I turned out to be.  I may come across as a bit patronizing, but that’s ok because I will be writing  to me, and to a me that no longer exists.  Then again, maybe this letter will be in the form of a hologram,  and I will spend more time talking about how I have a hovercar to look forward to if I can just hang on through Linguistics 301.

I will probably finish by chiding myself for wasting time composing letters to my past self while it was still my present self, because that is utterly ridiculous.