Dear Tim

Message left taped to my roommate's door this morning as I left for work:

Dear Tim...

Now, you know I love you to bits.

BUT.

There are very, VERY few messages which merit calling me after midnight on a work night.

1. "I am in jail"
2. "I have been (shot, stabbed, beaten) and am now hospitalized."

In fact, those are about the only two I can think of. (Please note that whatever-it-was you were attempting to communicate last night? Did not make the list.)

Further: Telling me "I'll call you back" does not help matters; not only am I now awake, but I am also unable to go back to sleep because I am waiting for the next call. Calling me back an hour later and saying "Nevermind"? Also does not work.

Since pretty much everything in this house depends on my ability to keep this job, and my ability to keep this job depends almost entirely on my ability to get enough sleep, I trust you will see the wisdom of NEVER...DOING...THAT....AGAIN.

(Note: I am not mad. I was mad last night. I am not mad now. But I needed to make this point.) Love ya...--G

I am tired.
My head hurts.
I apparently slept the rest of the night with my jaw clenched, judging from the state of my neck muscles.
I feel like crap. (I almost typed "I feel like carp" which would have been no less appropriate. I can't imagine carp are happy fish.)
I want a NAP.
And a truncheon, with which to whack my darling roomie.
Suddenly, a studio apartment--with no phone!--sounds like a verrrrry enticing idea.