My therapist said I should write a letter to my future self and open it in four years from now as a way to understand my current feelings about myself. This is going to be stupid.

Dear Montanaface,

How are you, you old son of a bitch? What’s the future like? Is it as awful as the present? Is that rash gone yet? The current president of the United States is Barak Obama. A black president! I guess in the future there are all sorts of new kinds of presidents. Women presidents. Gay presidents. Trustworthy presidents. Zing!

Today you fed your fish three times because you were bored. I know I like to eat when I’m bored, so I assumed the fish would too. I was wrong. They all died. So I ate them. Because I was bored.

I’m going to put ten dollars in a savings account for you now so that when you read this letter, the savings account will be worth…let’s see…eleven dollars. You’re welcome.

Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you: are there flying cars in your time? I was promised that the future would have flying cars by popular films and literature in my time. But I’m guessing that you probably don’t have them yet, because I was also promised that there would be hover boards by now, and I own zero hover boards. And jumping off of the roof with a skateboard tied to your feet is not the same as riding a hover board, trust me. It is, however, a great way to break your coccyx, which I did, twice.

Ok, that’s all I have to say to you. Good luck with everything. Maybe you will have lost your virginity by the time you read this letter, but I’m not going to hold my breath. Unless that would get me a girl. Do girls like men who breathe, or men who don’t? Why am I asking you.

Yours,
Montanaface.

P.S. – about that savings account…I actually need that ten dollars today, so don’t go looking for it.