And Then There Was One

Ifeel like I’m living for two, housed in the same old shell of the familiar body, as unremarkable as always. But there aren’t two me’s, just the me that is reflecting the me I am not yet, the future me impatiently waiting to come out, wondering what’s taking so long, asking itself if it got the right address.

"Yes, it’s here," the present me replies eagerly, ‘cause goodness knows one is not supposed to be rude, not even to one’s future self, lest it won’t want to be friends no more. People pleasing basics, people, every good girl knows that.

"But there is nothing here," the future me replies confused, "there is no foundation for my work, no phone tree, no connection, this can’t be right, I want to talk to my manager."

My present, very accommodating self, plagued by abandonment issues, molds its pliable essence around this superior crisis, mumbling nervously no problem, I’ll get right on it, while my future self taps her foot irritated, complaining about the working conditions and asking sharply where is my latte, I said skim milk, skim, people, it’s not that hard, do I have to do everything myself around here?

You can understand how life tends to get overwhelming at times.

I look in the mirror. Yep, the same body. Darn. One would think that the diva version of oneself would come with a little more glamor, pizzazz, you know, to fit the picture, especially one who seems to possess such a monumental ego, but no, I get to keep the old package, which was reasonably adequate for the me who said yeah, I’ll get right on it, but, just between us, it’s kind of cramping the style of my skimmed milk latte, lots of foam future self.

What’s a girl to do? I just realized I procured for myself a fresh boss, one item of which there was never a shortage in my life, and not a tolerable one at that. But the future me has real issues, and it doesn’t hesitate to share them, you know, just a few suggestions for improvement, not to be taken personally.

I didn’t realize I was so backwards, the present me cowers in her chair, sweating through her jacket, I’m sorry that you didn’t find my current living situation adequate, I’ll get right on it. As it puts forth a confident, can do attitude, the present me worries that the task of existing might be assigned to a more qualified candidate, somebody with more experience maybe, most likely male, and then I’ll find myself out of a body, with no arms to move or food to chew. Fear is a powerful motivator, isn’t it?

As I turn around I keep churning thoughts in my head, like I always do, about my freshly minted self-appointed master, about having to change things I don’t yet know I want to change, and suddenly I realize, you know what? I don’t like this future me bossing me around, I think I’ll live my life as I see fit, if that’s all the same to you, thank you very much. And then, right then, I notice that I’m holding a steaming latte and know that I have arrived, undamaged, and as for the packaging, it is perfect just the way it is.