Dear Staying Up Late, it’s not you, it’s me ...
I’m tired of you. I don’t need a sleeping pill to get over you, just an electrical outage. You fool me into thinking I’m being productive, lie to me and tell me that updating my Facebook status and that I should make a whole Thanksgiving dinner at 1:30 A.M. are going to make my to-do list shorter the next day. I give and give and you are never satisfied. No matter how many times I’ve fed your appetite for South Park and Family Guy reruns, you aren’t happy unless you’ve gotten “just one more episode” out of me. How many nights have I stood in front of an open refrigerator while you kept me up, trying to make a snack out of condiments. Staying Up Late, take your double stuffed oreos with milk and leave. I am agitated, on my second Monster and craving chocolate-filled croissants, because I haven’t slept. And I snoozed through my alarm and missed my workout this morning. You’re ending up on my stomach—and that is where I draw the line.
Jesus
P.S. Don’t call me, I don’t want to hear of you again.