Past Me, You’re an Asshole

Dear Past Me,

A missive:

Saturday morning I felt like crap. I mean, I felt truly disgusting. What followed were several days of stomach issues, culminating in me having to take a laxative. What were you thinking?

You weren’t.

The week went well. To recover from making less than ideal food choices, necessitated by having to eat out twice a day for two weeks, you went hard on health. You managed to lose the few pounds you gained on your trip. Good job. However, I can’t for the life of me, fathom why you decided to eat such a gratuitous amount of pizza and bread sticks Friday evening. You’re not used to that. It won’t go well.

To top it off, you didn’t sign the roster to get a room on base for the weekend, so rather than bother the lady at your unit to get you one, you decided to drive nearly 2 hours each way for two days. Of course, this is after a 10 hour trip the previous weekend, a two hour trip the next day, and a trip to and from Picayune later that week. You obviously can’t get enough of being in the car, despite your whole body hurting from driving so much. AND… you had to be at work at 0 dark thirty Saturday.

Nothing like being tired and feeling gross. Good job.

Really though, none of this comes as a shock. You’ve traditionally not been very kind to me. You’ve binged candy like it’s going out of style. You’ve drank enough sodas to bathe in. You’ve sat on your ass and watched TV for more hours than it would take to earn another degree (or learn a language…). In short, you’ve consistently set me up for failure. It’s sort of your shtick. Though, you’re not always like that.

You’ve earned me a college degree, you’ve taught me how to be a good drummer, you’ve earned a commission. You’ve stepped out of your comfort zone numerous times in the name of setting me up for success. If we could only work on this other stupid shit…

Of course, who am I to point fingers? You see, you are me, and I am future me (and who knows what that crazy son-of-a-bitch will be up to). I can’t do a single thing about the past. It doesn’t exist anymore. All I can do is make sure not to fuck things up for future me. All I can do is learn from my mistakes, and not do them again.

So, forward this message along to future me, and let him know that when it’s time for our weekly “Eat Like Shit Meal,” let’s maybe not take that quite so literally. Okay?

Love, your favorite person in the whole world,

P.S., Thanks for signing the roster this time.

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