A letter from December 12th, 2019

Dear FutureMe, I hope you're well. If you're reading this, that means you're alive. Well done! Right now, I don't feel so good. I have a roof over my head and food in my stomach, and wifi, never forget the wifi. But I'm only here through the kindness of mum. I hope she's okay in the future. The job market's been tough, and as many times as I tell myself learning to live out in the wilderness might be better, we both know you're not going to do that. I hope you found a job you're passionate about. Or some kind of equilibrium that makes you happy. It's okay if you're not. Again, proud of you for staying alive this long. If you're getting this letter in 3 years, it means you must be 25. Yikes. Big age. Well, who knows. Maybe you'll feel younger than I ever did at 22. I hope you do. Not in the way that you're unsure about everything. More in a way where you're still curious about life. It's nearly 4am now, so I better go. But I love you. I don't get to express that often, you being me, and me and all that. But I do.