Dear Brain (not Brian),
It’s a cruel game you play with sleep. Taunting me with yawns and groggynesss, an invitation to rest. I accept your advances. Lay my head on my pillow and nothing.
You abandon me. Leaving me to look at the red glow of an alarm clock I only use because I’m too lazy to look at my phone.
You leave me to think of the things I didn’t do and want to do tomorrow in a cycle of disappointments.
Then you let sleep arrive, in your own time, unannounced only to leave. Do you have bathroom issues that cause me to wake up every hour?
Examples of your crimes.
1 am: you wake me up only to see if I’m asleep.
2 am: you wake me up to tell me that the time gap between a stegosaurus and Tyrannosaurus rex is greater than that of a Tyrannosaurus rex and today.
3 am: you ask me if I locked the garage door and pester me to check it only to find that yes, I did lock it.
4 am: you wake me up to tell me you heard a bird fart 2 blocks away.
5 am: you wake me up to tell me that I have to wake up at 6.
5:55 am: you tell me I have to wake up in 5 minutes.
Noon: you criticize me for being tired.
I hate you.