Dear Future Me,
This is you from the past. Obviously.
I hope you’re reading this as you sit by the pool in your mansion in Tuscany, while a shirtless Chris Hemsworth fans you with giant peacock plumes.
Oh, Future Me, I have so many questions…Has Facebook shared Myspace’s fate yet? Has Google taken over our souls, and most importantly, has Justin Bieber grown a beard?
(Just kidding, we both know that one will never happen.)
By the way, no one has created a TV show about the adventures of a young Captain Jean-Luc Picard, have they?
Of course they haven’t.
Look, you need to write the series yourself, and it doesn’t matter that you don’t know how to write a script. It’s your problem, not mine. Unless… you have already done that, and this is why you have a mansion in Tuscany!
Waait. This means I should warn an earlier-future-version of myself, the one who decides to write about young Jean-Luc’s adventures in the first place. If she doesn’t write the script, you’ll have no pool, no mansion, and no bare chested Chris Hemsworth, Future Me!
You should really start freaking out by now.
Anyway, I better go write to her and save both our asses.