January 20, 2025, Portland, Oregon
Dear me at age 33,
...still stuck in Houston, Texas with all the good ol' boys who think it's cute as grits that you know how to drive a truck. No wonder you ran like hell to a blue state.
First off, your ass still rocks a miniskirt, in spite of the cellulite underneath. Imagine me high-fiving you from the future (where there are no flying cars, but there are now multiple flavors of Nutella, and Tina Fey is president of the United States, so it's cool..)
Secondly, you have got to be nicer to yourself. Stop beating yourself up for the mistakes you made, buck up, and go be awesome. Because that's exactly what happens. You pull yourself out of it and now I'm happy as fuck thanks to all the hard work you're about to do to get your shit together. Stick with therapy. You cry a lot so get the last session of the day or else your mascara smears so bad you look like a coke-addicted whore. But therapy's great.
It will all be worth it. One day. It's not a day anytime soon, but I promise it will all be worth it.
Because one day you have not one, not two, but three published books, and that means you make enough money to quit your lame day job and instead go be surrounded by your library of books while you write with your desk at the window where there's an actual mountain. The writing deadlines are hard, and you occasionally dream about Norse mythology, but you love it so hard your husband accuses you of having an affair with it.
By the way, you should know the whole bipolar thing you're going through makes for fantastic fodder for your third book. "How did you write such a realistic character?" Um, maybe because she's based on me and I'm real?" and then you throw a handful of Lithium in his face at which point he asks you if you're on your period and you throw an angry cat at his face.
You're married to the love of your life. Going through all those ex-boyfriends will be worth it when you meet this man, this amazing, brilliant, sweet, hilarious, handsome man who almost always remembers to hang up his wet towel after a shower. And he's taller than you even when you're wearing your tallest heels! Oh, and you do not have sex on the first date because YOU CAN KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS LIKE A GODDAMN LADY.
I'm so thankful you bought that Wonderwoman diaper bag ten years ago. I'm the coolest mom on the playground. Even the moms with fancy designer diaper bags compliment me on the one you bought me on clearance for $17.49 with free shipping. The burp cloth is a fucking cape for fuckssake. It just doesn't get any cooler than that.
Don't bother freezing your eggs. You get knocked up at 39 and again at 42. God bless those uber-fertile Catholic genes. Gotta spread the Word of God, after all!
Now the real purpose of this letter: stop fucking drinking. You don't think it's holding you back that much but it is. You should have been a published author by now but you were too busy sucking face with a wine bottle.
Stop that shit. Now. Or I'll find a time machine and come back to 2015 and punch you in the cooch and then in the face for symmetry of bruising.
Lastly, this bipolar thing. You will never stop being bipolar. Deal.
There are a few other things I think you should know about the future, just as a precaution:
George R.R. Martin's last ASOIAF book sucks. Tyrion dies.
Kale is still all the rage even though it tastes like how I imagine the icky crumblies between my toes are after two days in fuzzy socks.
Justin Bieber comes out as a lesbian.
All your exes are fat and divorced, and one has a blog for his cat.
The women from "Sex and the City" look like walking mummies which is so scary it makes your daughter cry and ask "why are the skeletons moving?"
Don't bother re-piercing your nipples because you'll be breastfeeding a few years later.
Start taking magnesium. It's the real secret to the war on osteoporosis. That and Nutella.
But really, good things happen for you, Vix. Buck up and have faith.
P.S. Absolutely do not paint the master bedroom plum. It will take four coats to cover when you repaint it white, which your husband will remind you he insisted was fine in the first place.