guess who

dear future self. this is you at nineteen. you've just spent a long night up with lindsey wallace leaving 'herro' messages on kit's myspace. hopefully you'll be spending thanksgiving with these fantastic kids, playing book trivia and cooking a great meal. this should be after you get to school. you'll try things out with henry, and it will be touch and go, and neither of you will be sure how to approach the situation, but you'll be back together, for some time, at least. you really like him right now, august 4th, 2005. he's all warm hands and warm eyes and warm smile, even if you can't figure out how to get him to, yknow, come to your room to find you every now and then. or maybe you'll be single. and maybe you'll be published again. and maybe you'll be at breadloaf. or in new orleans. or teaching. or interning at npr. and maybe you'll be the rising star of the am lit department. or you'll be middle of the pack and trying as hard as you fucking can. though i kind of doubt that. things to always remember. kit williamson is one of the best things to ever happen to you. take good care of him. go see drew sometime, ok? this is getting kind of stupid. if you haven't pursued a good, solid friendship / roommate situation with lindsey at this point, you're dumb as shit. emily is a wildcard. you trust her and actively like her but you need more to go on than the odd phonecall and the same taste in music. james riley is worthless; you should be done at this point with spending time with people who arbitrarily make decisions about your social life. pare it all down. go out more. spend more time in by yourself, reading old journals and harrison's nonfiction and eating babybel cheese. finish making those bulletin boards. buy a decent carpet. i hope you have good housing for jr year, kiddo. & hey, call driscoll. and who knows. charles? ward? stupid things you think about now and don't want to make happen in case things with henry solidify the way he's half-promising? you'll throw yourself completely into this, and if it doesn't work, you'll fall to pieces, throw up in drawers, be completely unmanageable for a few months. at the moment you're feuding with max. don't let that go on. he's not worth feuding over, either. i hope there were no unexpected deaths. I HOPE YOU'RE NOT WORKING AT CHEESECAKE AND IF YOU ARE I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU. or any customer service job. cmon, put some back into it. i hope you're still on the dean's list. i hope you got really drunk at least once on good mixed drinks and didn't puke; i hope you drove up the playcount on paxson's computer; i hope you met new febs; i hope you have a radio show; i hope your hair is long and dark and wavy; i hope danny sloane is a distinct nauseous memory. so. herro kiddo. i love you. i love what you're going to be. i love what you've been, even though i hate some of your decisions, and as stupid and possibly self-centered as this sounds, i'm in your corner no matter what. please don't be dead, me.