Does UPS ship to wormholes? Do I have to pay extra?

One common trend is writing a letter to your future self to be opened at a later date, serving as a time capsule of thoughts and expressions. Social Media Editor Zack Abrams thinks that’s a garbage idea; instead, he wrote a letter to the one person he knows has his ish together; his tenth grade, straight-A self. 

Dear Tenth-Grade Self,

You’ve gotta tell me how to do it. Last week I had one day where I was busy from 10am to 6pm with only an hour for lunch. I had three whole classes, a volunteer mentorship meeting lasting two hours, and only an hour for lunch. By the end of the day I was drained, hungry, cranky, and I just wanted to lie in my bed and sleep for a week. That’s when I realized; seven hours of classes and work isn’t extraordinary. You do it every single day.

HOW? How do you go to high school every day without imploding? I was exhausted after one busy day; you do the same routine Monday through Friday, week after week, with no hope on the horizon. You don’t even know if you’ll get into college yet (good news on that front) or what you want to do with your life (sorry, still no help here). You’re an insecure mess, and yet somehow you’re thriving. Thriving!

I know you’re in my mind somewhere. I figured you’d be able to help me unlock my previous capabilities. Was there a pill I used to take that magically gave me time-management skills and that I’ve forgotten about? Or has the election of [REDACTED] really affected my day-to-day life to such a degree? Am I just getting old? It’s only been a few years, though that can be a long time. Just look at Obama. (Sigh. Obama. Treasure him while you can.)

I know you probably expect that a message from the future would come with Powerball numbers or a dire warning about the state of affairs, but I’m worried about messing with the timeline because that would mean an end to me. I just need your help, tenth-grade self. You’re my only hope. That, or buying a calendar. I’m gonna buy a calendar too, just to cover my bases.

My (our?) regards,

Your College Sophomore Self.

Post-Atmospheric Postal Service via Flickr