A letter to my 22 year old self.

It’s hard for me to imagine what must be happening in your life. 6 years is quite a long time for someone my age.

So how are you?

Have you finished art school? Please tell me you are at least at art school. I hope you haven’t lost track of your passion. You better not have settled for some boring medical degree. Don’t kid yourself, you and I both know that you’ll never feel content doing that. So if your not at film school make sure you really think about the choices you’ve made. Are you where you’re at because you want to be there or because mom and dad want you there.

Speaking of mom and dad, how are they? Is mom deaf yet? Because lord knows she practically there already! Is she still working? Has she given up coloring her hair yet? How about dad? What was it like when he retired? How annoying was it to have him home for all of senior year? I hope you still talk to them. Don’t be one of those adults who ships their parents off to an old people home. Even though they weren’t the kindest to you, they are your parents. Remember that.

How’s Drew? Let’s see he’ll be about 25 now. Make sure you keep in touch with him. I know that the way you guys communicate is through being jerks to each other but you love him. And he loves you. Remember a few weeks ago when you were saying good night and you said you loved him and he responded, “same I guess.” Be there for him. Let him know you believe in him. Let him know he can do it. Whatever it may be.

I was about to ask how Fawn is but I can’t imagine she’ll still be alive. An 18 year old dog is highly improbable but hey who knows? If you have your own dog I hope you named it Jeffrey. You always wanted a dog named Jeffrey.

Nikki Robinson

Note: I wrote this almost a year ago with the goal of it being a sort of time capsule and I had always intended on adding more to it but I suppose now it’s been long enough that I would like to leave it as is- existing in its slightly disjoint, completely unfiltered, and half-finished beauty.


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