You can send an email up to thirty years into the future. I sent myself one in five.
It was a strange experience.
When I was a kid I used to have this fascination with the phrase "cotton-picking minute." I conjectured that it meant a long, long minute, cause presumably time goes slower when work is hard and picking cotton as a slave must be terribly shitty work. So I would say to myself, "start" and wait half a year or a year or whenever I'd remember again and say "stop" and think "now that's a cotton-picking minute." I used to do this with words I'd make up too. And wait a few months and repeat that word out loud to see if I'd remembered it or even remembered to remember it.
Preoccupation with indexing time and measuring myself in the interim of two distant moments.
This web site is really wonderful. I wonder what it will be like to receive an account of me now, from me now, to me now in five years.