Slice 323 of 365
The smallest things can overwhelm me very easily these days. From making dinner, to hoping the car will start in the morning, to checking the mail hoping for no bills that day. Thinking about more than one small thing at a time snowballs into a cacophony of paralyzing quicksand that never ends.
Forget about larger worries, like eventually packing up the house. Those thoughts cause mind numbing brain bleeds leading to the voices in my head drowning. For all I know I’m in an asylum right now.
This is where I yell, “Stunt!” and my stunt man races in.
Meet, Future Me (Imagine with cape and theme music).
Future me is the guy who will take care of all these items. Future me and present me are apparently not very bright since future me is literally me in one second, there, now it’s future me, I mean present me, and again, and again, you get the idea. There are varying degrees of future me, usually I’m speaking about the one that lives in tomorrow and beyond.
The problem with this (and yes, I’m fully aware that there is more than one problem, and most of them are mental) is that future me turns into present me, eventually. When that happens, present me blames past me or just dumps even more back to future me. The only way I win this game is by dying, unless a future me exists after death, in which case I’m screwed six ways from Sunday.
But that’s future me’s problem.