I haven't been getting a lot of sleep. Me, fifty years from now, is/am in town and won't leave me/her alone. She/I won't say if she's in town because of the Time Travelers Convention that took place earlier this week, or if she's just on vacation, or simply bored. All I know is that I want me to leave.
It seems like a really cool idea, to be able to find out what's in store for your future. I learned that I will have roommates well into my fifties, and still be working on bits for my stand-up act and generally trying to find my big break in show business. When I'm 53, I'll tell everyone that I'm really 37, and my headshots will have been taken when I was 30.
She/I won't say whether or not I'll have kids because she/I wants that to be a surprise to me. But if geriatric Laura is so fond of surprises, why, when we're watching TV together, does she tell me the season finale of 24? Please shut up about Jack Bauer's next move already! I now already know who is going to win on "The Apprentice" and American Idol. I'll spare you the winners in case you watch the shows.
So it's been four days and I'm ready for me to leave. I gave old me the bed and have been sleeping on the couch, and I want my bed back. Plus, Old Me doesn't look as good as I do. She's got wrinkles and gray hair. I don't need that stress right now, a visual reminder that I'm not going to be young forever. Don't need it.
The ironic thing is that I think Old Me feels the same way. She was surprised that I wasn't doing better. I guess Old Me remembers this time in her life as being really exciting. She's always asking, "What are we going to do today?" as if I have something amazing planned. I'm always like, "Uh, I was gonna pick up some artichokes from the store and, you know, probably take a nap or something. Maybe walk the dog, call someone on the phone, blog about how annoying you are. Things like that." She's always disappointed and a little crestfallen.
I'm off to an audition. Ho hum.