The summer before my sophomore year of college, I started what I called The Sandwich Diet. I had a sandwich for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and a sandwich for supper. Usually ham, because I like ham sandwiches. Every afternoon I walked down to the store and bought a 3 Musketeers bar, which I ate. When I started back to school that fall, I looked fantastic. Not that I thought I looked good. I still thought I was fat.
I was thinking about that as I walked back from the store today after buying a 3 Musketeers bar (I'm not on the Sandwich Diet. I just wanted some chocolate). I was wishing I could pop back in time to meet myself as an 18-year-old college student, to tell her to enjoy being young and trim with her whole life before her. I also wished I could give her my sword and tell her to join a fencing group, because then I'd already be a good fencer and wouldn't have to be nervously putting off joining a local group until I lose just five more pounds.
And after that, of course, I wished I could just sit down and talk to my 18-year-old self. I think the conversation would go something like this, once I'd convinced her that I was actually her older self....
2010 Me: I've brought you a book about how to study effectively. You're going to need it next year. Oh, and don't take any classes from Dr. Sears.
1988 Me: I have to. He's the only one who teaches that class on the Romantic poets.
2010 Me: He's going to retire next year. I've also brought you a reading list. These are books I wish I'd read when I was your age.
1988 Me: These books look boring.
2010 Me: Yes, I know, but trust me when I say that you need to read Dorothy Sayers right now. Now, this box here contains printed-out copies of manuscripts. You'll have to retype them before you send them out on submission, but do not change one freaking word. They've been edited by someone twenty-three years your senior--that would be me--and I can't give them away because of the economy. Here in 1988, publishers will buy anything.
1988 Me: I have to type all this? Don't you have floppy discs in 2010?
2010 Me: No. No, we don't. Just type them. Here's some money for the 1989 Writer's Market. Look, if I get back to 2010 and I still have my dead-end job, no agent, and no contracts with major publishers, I'm going to come back in time again and kick your ass. And I'll take this sword back, see if I don't.
1988 Me: I'm kind of too busy to type this much stuff.
2010 Me: You are not busy. You've spent the entire summer sitting around reading horse books and listening to the radio. Speaking of which, you need to get a job. Seriously, it will do you a world of good.
1988 Me: I'm a sensitive flower. I don't think I can handle the pressures of a job. I also have a massive intellect and shouldn't have to work for a living. I'm a writer.
2010 Me: No, I'm a writer. You're a poser. Hell with it, I'm going to kick your ass just for the exercise.
Flabby 2010 Me kicks 1988 Me's ass thoroughly, since 1988 Me is weakened from her three-month diet of nothing but ham sandwiches and 3 Musketeers bars.
2010 Me: Now sit down and type this stuff up, get a job at a book store, and join a fencing group.
1988 Me (wiping her bloody nose): When I'm your age, I won't be such a bitch.
2010 Me: Oh yes you will. You just won't notice it happening.
9 comments:
HA! Awesome. I think we all need to have a conversation with our eighteen-year-old selves.
"if I get back to 2010 and I still have my dead-end job, no agent, and no contracts with major publishers, I'm going to come back in time again and kick your ass..."
Awesome.
If I'd started writing seriously back then, I'd be a lot further along in my career now. Then again, my early novels would embarrass me terribly. Maybe it's better this way.
What worries me is, when 2037-you shows up next week, how are you going to handle her? That bitch...
Yeah, the 2037 me is a bitter old hussy. On the other hand, I know I live another 27 years. You take what you can get.
Hahaha! You tell her. And while you're back in 1988, look me up and say the same thing. Thanks!
The time machine I've presumably found is going to be pretty popular, I think. I'll loan it to you after I get back from 1988. :)
1990 me was on the white diet - only white food. She was skinny too and lazy and wrote really bad poetry. I'd happily kick her ass.
Har! Mine would be eerily similar...except it would be in 1981 and 2010 me is still wimply and it would be pretty much a stalemate trying to kick my 1981 me's ass. Nice look back. This was my favourite part...
1988 Me (wiping her bloody nose): When I'm your age, I won't be such a bitch.
2010 Me: Oh yes you will. You just won't notice it happening.
Word Ver: prickbus
Cate--I could have done the white sandwich diet if I'd known you back then. Turkey slices on white bread with mayonnaise. Blech.
Alan--There's nothing like a few decades of life experience to make one seem bitchy to a teenager. :)
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