Dear Brain,
Jet-lag is a funny thing, isn't it Brain? Our body is in Lyon, France, yet you, for some reason, are still in the Bay Area of California, and I heard you when you said you'd be damned if you'll synchronize for my sake, despite my asking nicely. "Bwahahahaha!" I hear you laugh the evil-nemesis laugh of mad scientists as I fade into unconsciousness at embarrassingly early points in the day, and on the bus as I'm about to miss my stop. Even when I wake up (at 4-6 am, by the way), I still feel groggy because you've convinced our body that it's really only 9 pm and that I should be turning in soon. WHY DO YOU DO THIS. Too tired to be awake, too awake to be tired, I end up groggily and irately watching episodes of Bones until its time to get ready for work. Is this all your elaborate plot to get more exposure to shirtless David Boreanaz? Because if it is, that is underhanded and mean, and you should know that I would watch Bones regardless of your shit.
The best torso picture I could find was unfortunately also the worst facial hair picture I could find... why did he think this was a good idea?
BRAIN, YOU ARE IN FRANCE NOW, DAMN YOU. It's time you start acting like it. These childish pranks are below you. You're giving us under-eye bags. I know how vain we are-- is that really what you want? As I find myself counting down the minutes until 7pm when I can pass out with shame like an elderly person in an assisted living center, I not only lose my dignity, but also an ability to lead a normal life, or to take the bus.
SNAP OUT OF IT, or I will make us listen to Lindsay Lohan music.
Don't think I wont.
Fear my wrath.
Sincerely,
Me
