Why is it hard to read things I wrote so long ago? I hang on to the notion that I am someone else just as much as - maybe because of? - my fear that I'll be lost in the succession of past selves dying in time.
Something I have thought - I remember - and probably wrote down - is that I am more like my past and future selves than anyone else, so that's the closest I'll get to anyone and the best understanding I'll have of anyone.
It seems strangely unlikely now though. Maybe because that silly past-me character is the one who thought it.