Big brother Pete found this letter I wrote to him when he was at Boot Camp: he, 19, me, 17. It is a disturbing / fascinating / amusing insight into my teen brain, and it leaves me with questions and thoughts. Like, in what version of the world did it make sense to call my brother Sexy? Also, how interesting, that even at 17, I was making excuses for my slack on human connection and blaming it on ‘sooooo busy with play.’  Spoiler alert: I totally got into Chapel Hill.