Two years and change.

Two years ago on June the third I started a writing project with a goal of writing myself a letter every day for an entire year. I wrote thirteen before life took over and my project fell to the wayside.

A year ago I didn’t open the letters on the days that they were penned the year before. I didn’t open them at all because I didn’t want to know what kind of place I was in then.

Tonight I opened the first one and I’m floored. I’m not going to retype the text out here, but I will quote the end because I think it’s important.

“I hope these letters teach you something and that every day you’re wiser than the last. Please have learned to be happy again. If you’re sitting in the backroom by the garage, nothing has changed. Start over!”

I’m sitting in the backroom by the garage and nothing has changed. That isn’t true. So much has changed, but not in the way that I envisioned in 2014. I haven’t learned to be happy. If anything the clouds around me seem darker.

On June 4th, I wrote “Tomorrow is a new day. Swallow your pride.” I didn’t do that either which is probably in direct correlation to the fact that I’m sitting in the backroom by the garage.

The letter for the next day seems as though it has more than one page, which may not be a great thing. It turns out that I’m not very nice to myself. I was right. It’s two pages. Fuck. Past me pretty much just assumes that now me is a fucking idiot. Past me was right.

June 6th: “I hope that a year later you didn’t become that guy.” I didn’t. I was really worried about going to jail on the 6th and also very drunk. This is like reading out a book that I read a few years ago and I already know it ends in disaster.

Everything leads to the next and it seems that the future played out pretty much how I expected it to, which is unfortunate. However, it may mean that I’m psychic. That’s pretty cool, right?

I took two days off the letter campaign and picked back up on the 10th. It’s like watching a slow decent into this black cloud that I’ve found over the last several months. It’s the opposite of encouraging.

I finished reading the rest of them. The play by play was beginning to annoy even me. It didn’t get any better, but I did remind myself that it’s the little things that matter. I should be holding on to that. I’m going to start this campaign again on November 1st in addition to NaNoWriMo.

I’ve spent the night cleaning up my writing space and preparing for NaNoWriMo. I’m happy with the space, but I haven’t even started thinking about what I’m going to write. I’m on vacation for the next four days. My goal is to have decided what the hell to write about and come up with some sort of outline for it. I’m going to finish NaNo this year even if it kills me.

It really might kill me.


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