An open letter to 6:30 a.m.

Dear 6:30 a.m.,

If you don’t knock it off soon, I am going to have you arrested. I have kindly asked you to fuck off before, and you did not listen. You know, 6:30 a.m. I was just starting to groove on 7 a.m. (even though my heart still belongs to 7:30) and then you came along to screw things up.

6:30 a.m. there is nothing good happening at your time in the morning. Hell, the sun isn’t even up yet. Nobody likes 6:30 a.m. Nobody. So why you gotta be all up in my business every damn day this week? It’s not as though I invited you over for breakfast by going to bed at 10 a.m. or something crazy like that. No, no, I’ve been doing my usual midnight or so bedtime. And yet there you are all hey, let’s get up and go to the bathroom. Let’s start the day, let’s sing a little song called “Hey ya.”

But 6:30 a.m. you and I both know that my brain doesn’t really start kicking until at least 9 o’clock and that’s only after two cups of coffee and a lot of rock & roll. Only then, am I ready to function.

So you see 6:30 a.m. you aren’t doing yourself or me any favors. It’d behoove you to leave me sleep until 7 a.m. a time that I don’t necessarily appreciate but will tolerate for the sake of paying my mortgage.

Kindly exit stage left, or else.

Jodi, who needs as much beauty sleep as she could possibly get

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