Dear Past Self

I sit in my comfy computer chair, swiveling away, as I attempt to change my e-mail address. After twenty minutes of it being a pain in my ass, I realize something dreadful.
I'm a weak-ass pansy.
And so are we all, if you think of it. Even in the military they don't expect you to take down a mastodon for food and clothing. Hell, when was the last time we thought of mastodons? And Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers doesn't count. I mean in the 'Oh shit oh shit this big furry thing with the tusks the size of GOD is trying to squash me like a bug I'm so sorry for anything I've ever done' kind of sense.
Dear past self, you are a sissy wimp who couldn't track a limp rabbit with ADD.
After I e-mail myself my password hint, I tell myself, I'm going out and teaching myself spearhunting.
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