Dear 100-Year-Old Me,

Well, look at you. One hundred years old. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been stubborn.

Persistent, you’d probably say.

Fine. Persistent.

Gosh, by now you’ve probably outlived most of our loves. I can’t imagine that sting. I was about to say I couldn’t do it…

You figure it out, you say. Same way you figure out most things. One awkward step at a time.

That sounds about right.

You want a hug from your younger self?

Of course.

What, I stink?

Sniff.

…Oh.

Oh my goodness, you’re right.

Relax, you say. You smell like someone still in the middle of living.

Well if that’s the case, why don’t you smell rank?

Oh, I do, you say. I just call it vintage.

Fair enough.

Tell me something. Are you still lucid, or are you a wee short of a full deck?

Young’un, you say, we never had a full deck.

That’s true. I’m pretty sure we lost most of the cards somewhere around forty years ago.

Maybe, you say. But we kept the funny ones.

Before I forget, any advice?

Yeah, you say. Don’t stop writing. Turns out it’s still our lifeline… and the only place we ever made any sense.

You know… that actually explains a lot.

Besides, you add, someone had to keep track of our nonsense.

Good. I was worried we’d forget the best parts.