Letters to Myself:

Sometimes, when I'm sitting in the office with nothing to do, I'll take a quick five minute break and write.  I'll open up hotmail, and write a letter to myself.  Often, these are just blog posts that wind up getting edited and put here;  sometimes, they're just dumb little snippets that amuse me a few weeks later, when I read it.  Mostly, I write these e-mails as a way to satisfy my writer's itch, doing so in a waythat passers-by will associate with work.

And then, sometimes, I write entries like this.  I was sitting in the office by myself, and was pretty down about the fact that I had no money and a shitty job.  So I wrote a dumb little letter to "future Dave" as a way of cheering myself up.  It did the job, and a few weeks later reading it, it's cheered me up once again.

I figured I'd share it with you all, because it's kind of funny.

Dave. This job is making you miserable. You need to find some way to get your ass out of this cycle. Maybe you should just start killing random strangers and taking their money... you could also donate their organs, for extra cash value. Either that, or you need to find some sort of job that is more appealing than this current one. Which is, pretty much, all of them. Hell, you could work at a convenience store at three in the morning, dealing with the drunks, drug addicts, and smackheads, and it'd still be better than sitting here and saying "Hi, this is Dave from H&R Block, just calling in regards to the current tax year. If you'd like, give us a call at 250 380 xxxx."

I don't know if you, being Future Dave, knows this, but saying that shit, over and over again, is terrible. Soul-sucking. And doing it with only ten cents to your name is even harder, because you can't even buy a fucking can of diet coke or a sandwich. Jesus, future Dave, I've been eating nothing but oatmeal and Lipton's sidekicks for a week. Do you know how close I am to flipping SCURVY!? Scurvy, Future Dave.  Honest to god Scurvy.  I'm one day's worth of oatmeal away from turning into a pirate. 

Now, I know that you're Future Dave, and that you can't do anything about me. I'm stuck in the past, and everything you do is only going to affect Future Future Dave. You're basically useless to me. HOWEVER, I kind of like Future Future Dave, even though I've never met him. And I'd like to see him avoid this situation I find myself in now. And it all rests on your shoulders, Future Dave. Get yourself a good source of income. Get your shit together. And make sure that Future Future Dave doesn't find himself sitting in this cubicle, plotting to kill the entire staff of Housewares and/or China because the frequent pages over the speakers are driving him slowly crazy.

Fun Fact: the staff of Housewares and China share about four kidneys between them. On the black market, that's a good couple thousand dollars. Which can buy a lot of diet coke. Or Lipton's Sidekicks. Or Oatmeal, for that matter.  Just, if you go for the oatmeal route, pick up some vitamin C.  Scurvy, after all. 

Allow me to reiterate this, Future Dave: WORKING THIS JOB SUCKS. It sucks BALLS. Don't ever find yourself in this situation, and do everything in your power to prevent it from ever happening again. Because if you don't, I'm going to get ahold of some sort of time machine and travel to the future and kick your ass.

Don't fuck up, Future Dave. Because Future Future Dave is counting on you.

You asshole.

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