Dear Wigleaf,

My office chair feels like sitting on sandpaper. In the background, my coworker yammers on about the vending machine still being out of peanut M&Ms. I like the guy, just not at 8 a.m., and definitely not as I scroll through spam emails, looking for those few emails that actually matter. Luckily, I can split myself in two.

"Uh-huh," Present Me says.

Past Me, 1997 Me, holds a Nintendo 64 controller because the future can be like a pull-tab lottery ticket. On my CRT television, I fly an Arwing as Fox McCloud, the leader of Team Star Fox. Instead of studying or learning to play an instrument, I blast my way through the Lylat System, saving it from the evil Andross.

I play the game for hours, days, years maybe, until I figure I'm the best Star Fox 64 player on the planet. Even though Present Me knows that not to be true, Past Me doesn't. Past Me has repeatedly saved entire pixel-made worlds. Past Me thinks that if I blow into my worn game cartridges, they'll be as good as new. Past Me thinks that if he rips open enough pull-tab tickets, he'll eventually see nothing but cherries. Past Me can do anything.

Present Me draws on Past Me whenever I don't feel like myself anymore. Present Me draws on Past Me whenever I sit on my torture device of an office chair. Present Me draws on Past Me whenever I have to pretend to give a shit about some missing M&Ms.

Love always,
Present and Past Will