Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Maybe I should just quote the e-mail for you verbatim:

"Hey, you.

I'm from the future, and I've come to tell you that "if you don't listen to me, in three million years you'll be dead!"

Hee. Sorry. I just thought that was too funny to resist, and I knew you would too. In 18 years, you're going to be sitting at your computer, trying to write this damn e-mail, and you're going to think it's just as perfect an opening as I just did.

Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. First of all, I want you to remain very calm. This is not a trick. You have no reason to be paranoid.

My name is Ana Ng. I am 44 years old. I am you, in 18 years.

You don't believe me. Let me prove it. I've had stitches in my head twice. My first best friend was Chrissy. My first boyfriend was Bryan, at the age of 18. I found out later he was a child molester. Are you convinced yet? How about this: In about five minutes, George is going to come crashing into the computer room, and start gnawing on your leg. I'll wait.

Aw, now you're freaking out. Relax. You really are far too paranoid for your own good. I know, because I remember getting this e-mail myself. You're going to do nothing but stress about this for a few days. You're going to become increasingly convinced that this time, you really are nuts. Then, you're going to decide that following advice from your future self is just demented enough that it might work, and do exactly what I tell you. I know this, because it's what I did when I was you, and if you don't do it, you can't possibly end up here, writing this in 2019, to be read in 2001. Paradox, ya see.

I don't want you to even think about the e-mail you'll get in 2004, that will have been sent in 1811. That's an entirely new can of worms, and thinking about it right now will just complicate this unnecessarily.

Oh, I'm kidding. There is no e-mail in 2004. Boy, I wish I could see my face right now. I was right, though. That was hilarious. (And yes. I wanted to throttle future me just as badly as you do right now. Wait 18 years, and then you'll get it.)

OK, that's enough screwing around. As much as I love the idea of sending a total mindfuck e-mail to myself right at the point in my life when I was most confused and vulnerable, I happen to know I don't do that. Paradox again.

So, if I did this right, you'll be receiving this e-mail on Jan 23, 2001. I hope I did this right. If it gets sent to you even a week too late, you're going to miss your window of opportunity. Pay attention.

Next Thursday, you're going to want to walk to work. As you pass the Amoco, you'll see a man wearing a green coat lying on the snowbank. Help him to his feet. He's going to seem a little disoriented. Help him walk to Kristina's. Give him all the chicken soup he can eat. Never mind what Lusy says. In three months time, he'll be dead, but he'll turn out to have been a lonely multimillionaire, and he'll leave you everything, for helping him in his time of greatest need.

Right now, you're nodding your head. You're saying, "Oh, I knew it! I knew something magical had to happen to me soon!"

Look, kiddo. Do me a favor. Take that fucking cigarette which I happen to know you've just lit, and jam it up your nose. Fer chrissakes, Ana, it's not that simple. Nothing ever is. There are no Mysterious Strangers who want to give you money. You're not even going to ever win the lottery.

You.

will.

never.

be.

rich.

Got that?

Look, kid, I wish it didn't have to be that way. I sincerely wish I had an easy answer for you. To be perfectly honest, I'm still waiting for one myself. Part of the reason I'm sending you this is so that maybe in 18 years I'll have had time to think about what I'm telling me right now, and I won't be quite so upset over the whole thing.

So, OK. There is no Mysterious Stranger, you're thinking. So, why aren't I offering me the next Powerball numbers, or stock tips, or something? Well, to be perfectly honest, I tried that. A few months ago, I sent an e-mail to you with all that stuff. No, you never got it. I know, because my past didn't change. Paradox wouldn't let it go through.

All I can really tell you is that you're going to make a few more mistakes over the years. But you'll live through them. I wish I could tell you how to avoid them. But from where I sit, you've already done it. No matter what the sci fi crowd says, you can't change the past.

Paradox. It gets you every time.

Cheers.

Oh, and a quick PS: TheSpark was absolutely right about Warren. Fortunately, Warren Jr. is a very precocious little tyke, and was able to take up his dad's duties as the Eternal Pledge at age three."

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