Starting An Open Letter To Myself / On This / One Of The Last Few Days We Have Left Together

Dear Me, 
 — no, that’s too familiar.

Dear Sad Dude, 
 — no, too true.

Dear It’s 2,100,000 Minutes Until 2020, 
— no, it’s not, it can’t be.

Dear Oh Yeah It Is, 
 — no, I believe you, but still, it didn’t need to be said, twice.

Dear Joke’s On You Mr. P., 
 — no, too mean.

Dear Hunchback of Notre Dame, 
 — no, that’s just quasi-crazy talk.

Dear Holder Of Many Quaint Delusions, 
— no, but we’re getting closer to starting this letter.

Dear Me,
 — no, still too familiar but we’re running out of options and readers are leaving.

Dear Watch What Happens To You Next, 
— no, I’ll avert my eyes.

Dear It’s Probably Not Going To Be Coming Straight At You,
— no, I can’t believe it’ll happen from behind.

Dear How Do You Think We Got To This Point In The First Place, 
 — no, I can’t believe it’s by looking backwards.

Dear You Obviously Haven’t Been Paying Attention, 
— no, that’s not true, I read the newspaper.

Dear While Sipping A Latte At Starbucks, 
— no, well, sometimes, but no.

Dear Me, 
 — no, we seem to keep returning to that trope.

Dear You Made It Through Reagan, 
 — no, that’s no consolation.

Dear You Thought We Were Making Progress, 
 — no, I’m not that stupid.

Dear You’re Not S0 Certain Of That Are You, 
 — no, I’m not certain of anything.

Dear Me, 
 — no, I’m certain, I’m not opening this letter to myself with “Dear Me.”

Dear This Is Getting Tiresome, 
 — no, it’s not, it’s passing the time.

Dear It’s Only 2,099,999 Minutes Until 2020, 
 — See what I mean!