Dear Music Major Who Either Has No Sense Of Time Or Just Wants To Keep Me Guessing So That By The Time You Call Me I've Already Passed Out And Decided Several Times Over That I Hate You Slash Am Turning Lez,

i gave up on you in favor of LemonBerry Splash and Orange Bacardi last night, and i must say my fruity friend and i fell asleep together rather happily (after, of course, composing and then erasing several scathing text messages to you). but then, of course, you called at THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING-- at which point i had been passed out/sleeping for 3 solid hours-- and persuaded me to get OFF the warm couch and INTO my car to follow you back to YOUR house, in the desolately freezing temperatures that usually accompany the dead middle of the night.

it was worth it, of course, because you were really cute and amazing and i'm pretty sure i looked adorable curled up in your garnet sheets (my favorite color),

but i should really not be so easily persuaded slash desperate, because honestly all i wanted to do in the whole world when you called was go back to sleep.

.....this probably doesn't make sense to anyone but me.
does it?

whatev,
-c