Dear self,

You are restless and it suits you.

You watch TV online like it’s a religion.

You have a devoted void in your life filled solely with Jimmy Fallon appreciation.

You slouch because when your back is straight you cannot breathe.

Your harshest critic is yourself.

You are afraid you are not going to finish school on time, despite what everyone is telling you.

You do not think you are going to make it the way you would hope.

You love your glasses.

You drink coffee.

You write formal essays without contractions.

You like people you cannot have.

You’re afraid to like people you can have.

You are Andy Bernard.

You are not a math person.

You are not unique.

You are usually way in over your head.

You’ve been listening to this Local Natives song for the past two hours.

You wear too many cardigans.

You wear that fucking green utility jacket too much. 

The majority of your wardrobe are neutral colors and stripes; there is not much color in your closet.

You do not sleep.

You hope you are insightful, creative, and imaginative.

You are indecisive.

You are a subtle Chandler Bing, but a Chandler Bing nonetheless.

You are impulsive.

You spell decision wrong all the time.

There are too many things you want to do when you “grow up”.

You don’t know if you’ll ever “grow up”.

You are a compassionate person and you pride yourself on it.

You constantly try to help people even if it makes thing trickier for you.

You do not like confrontation.

Shit used to be your favorite curse word, then fuck, as un-classy as it is.

The word fuck just works.

You love weird comedy.

You love smart comedy.

You hope you are funny.

You are your dad.

You need to accept the good that will eventually come to you. Other people believe in you so you should start. But figure out why you do not in the first place.




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