Open Letter To My Past Self
To the younger me:
I know you are a reader of the paper. I know this because I was you once. I know you will read this one year after it is published after plucking a print copy from a trash can in Roots Cafe. I remember doing that. I remember liking the Diet Coke that I drank while reading this issue.
I have some warnings for you.
Stay away from the alcohol. It won’t end well. It isn’t a problem now, and it won’t be in the future, but you should know. In some timelines it comes up. Be disciplined. Be proud of yourself.
When a strange man who smells of vinegar approaches you in the cheese section of the rich people supermarket in the Prudential Center, go with him to the defunct Rainforest Cafe. He has a time machine there. Listen to him.
When the bombs fall, and Boston is obliterated, don’t go back to look for her. A future self told me not to do that, and I’m passing it on. This may create a time paradox if you sit down and think about it, so don’t think about it.
When the reptilians attack your village, remember that their natural armor is weak around the eyes.
Do not blame yourself for the binge eating.
When the reptilian envoy approaches your village, do not attack them. Steve the Elder will want to ambush them, but they mean well. Listen and barter. They are essential to building the new world.
Remember that you don’t have to be perfect and you don’t have to eat perfectly.
If you follow this advice, you should be mostly fine. At some point you will lose a hand (in some timelines your left, sometimes your right), but this is necessary, so I’m not going to tell you how it happens.
When you meet a man going by the name Ricky Steven in two months, punch him in the face, then tell him you’re with the Association. He will understand.
Signed,
You.
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