Don't fuck this up.

Dear Kate, Do you remember what you were doing on June 10, 2004? You weren't doing anything, really. It was a slow day, like most other summer vacation days, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. You'll probably bake some more of that bread that you made yesterday, since it was so good and both loaves are almost gone already. You'll probably try to read some more of Gravity's Rainbow, since it's due at the library in less than a week and the chances of you finishing it are holding steady at "slim to none". You might watch a movie. Anyway, Kate, you don't have much of a life, and this is a known fact. Mom is trying to make you call Amy, because she knows that you need to get out of the house, and when you do hang out with your friends, you come back feeling so happy and forgetting that there was ever a time when you didn’t want to see them. And it’s not that you don’t want to see them, you have nothing against them. You just don’t want to have to get dressed and drive somewhere and actually act sociable and hold up one end of a conversation, though you know in your heart of hearts that when you’re around your friends those things come naturally. You’ve been depressed lately, Kate, but it’s a depression that manifests itself in bitter resentment towards every living creature and violent tendencies towards random inanimate objects. Jeff killed himself a little over a week ago, and you’ve hardly thought about it, and certainly haven’t talked about it since. It was hard just to write that previous sentence, even though you know you’re going to be the only one ever reading it. But anyway, you don’t know what to do about this whole situation, so you’ve just bottled it up inside of you and concentrated instead on other things. This isn’t good, but you don’t know what else to do. You just turned twenty on Monday. You don’t feel twenty. But by the time you read this again, you’ll have turned twenty-one, and that’s a hard thought to stomach. A legal adult in all aspects but car-renting. There are a lot of things that can change in the next three hundred and sixty five days. There’s an election coming up, one that will decide a lot of things for the country you live in. Your prediction is that Bush will again win the White House for two reasons: first, the majority of American people are easily duped, and there will be some “October Surprise” lying in wait to turn the tide of the election. Several people have speculated that it’s Osama Bin Laden. The second reason is that Bush has the power to illegally turn the tide of the election obviously in his favor, and if it appears that Kerry has an edge over him, and that he’s ready and willing to use said power if he feels it necessary. But you know what? You always hated talking about politics. So stop, already. When you are reading this, Kate, you will only have one semester (hopefully) left in college. Where are you going after that? Who will you live with? Are you going to grad school or are you crossing your fingers for a good job? Do you smoke? Are you drunk? Are you in love? The future is bright, Kate. Don’t fuck this up. Love, Kate