A Page From the Scribblehobbledehoydenii

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"Michael? Michael! This is yourself from the future..."

"Excuse me, what?"

"I'm you. From the far reaches of January 2021.Okay, I realize that's only twelve months from where you are, but..."

"Wow. What's with the hair? Have I joined some kind of anti-grooming cult?"

"That's the first thing I want to talk to you about. Go out and get a haircut, as short as you can bear it to be. Do it today. But first buy six months' worth of toilet paper. Never mind why."

"Um... Okay."

"Oh, and all that dystopian science fiction you're writing? Scrap it! From now on, it's fuzzy space bunnies and cuddly unicorns only. Your editors will thank you for it."

"I really don't think..."

"Don't think at all. Get your eyeglass prescription checked now. Visit the dentist. Go to a rock concert--I don't care if you like the group or not, just go. Eat out. Hug your friends. You're not going to be doing that again for a long, long time. Hell, hug your enemies. You're never going to be doing that again ever. Oh, and buy a good webcam while they're still cheap. Get a Zoom account. Your son will explain what that is. Are you writing this all down?"

"I think I've got it all. Anything else?"

"Just one more thing. A couple of months from now you're going to be tempted to make remarks about how much better than 2020 the year 2021 is going to be. You'll feel better about yourself afterward if you refrain from doing so."

"But..."

"Don't ask. You'll learn soon enough."

Above: The Scribbledehobbledehoydenii (singular Scribbledehobbledehoyden) is the proper title of my notebooks.

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