Dear Internal Clock,
You have got to be kidding me! Three nights ago, you knew I had to wake up early for an appointment, but you purposely reset yourself so that 11pm really felt like 7pm and I couldn't fall asleep. Then, when morning finally came, you attempted to convince me that, though my BB obviously said 9am, it couldn't have been much later than 6:30 in the morning. Tired and cranky, I dragged myself out of bed anyway, cursing your name and vowing to make up for it this weekend.
Now, it's Saturday. I could guiltlessly lay here in bed 'til half past noon, if I so choose. No breakfast to make, no meeting to attend, no dog to walk. But you! You wake me up at 7am - after a meager 4 hours of slumber - and I feel so damn refreshed I could just spit!
Where do you get off, huh? What kind of sadistic pleasure do you get out of ruining the ONE morning I get to languish in bed for hours to my little fatigued heart's content?
I really want to give you a piece of my mind right now; call you all sorts of nasty names, make fat jokes about Yo Mama, the whole nine yards. But I'm a 23-year-old female and I know how close you and my Biological Clock are - and I just don't need that kind of trouble right now.
Consider this a warning: Tomorrow is Sunday and I don't wanna hear a peep out of you until well past midday!
Love, Ophelia
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