Dear, dear Sleep,

I was wrong. I admit it. I was looking at you in the wrong light. Or rather, no light.

You are not the enemy. You are a reward. And as such, I failed to follow your rules and have been rewarding myself without having earned it. I'm like one of those white mice in laboratories that can push a lever to receive food or push another lever to receive some addictive drug, cocaine or something. Invariably, the rodent ignores the food lever entirely, pushing the drug lever again and again until its little heart explodes.

That's a poor analogy. Somewhere there's a rat in a cage glaring at a guy in a lab coat and thinking "I'm in a frikkin' cage here. I don't even have a wheel to run in. Who are you to pass moral judgement? That's what I thought, biped. Now shut up and refill my lever!"

Sleep, I have forsaken you to attend to a few of my responsibilities. I'm not sorry. The laws of thermodynamics should include "No rest for the wicked."

Having said that, this wicked little rodent is about to hit the metaphorical hay for a couple of hours until I have to get up for class.

Thanks for listening, Sleep. We'll see you around.

Love,

Guillermo

PS. This particular form of writing is called "epistolary."

Dear Sleep,

I am leaving you. We have been been spending too much time together. I have been neglecting my family, my friends, and my education. I'm not talking about lock-your-kids-in-a-cage-but-still-give-them-food-and-clean-clothes-neglect. This is like what?-I-have-kids?-neglect.

Sleep, you are the enemy. We go to a land without fault where responsibility is drowned in a sea of delta waves. That was a pun.

Discipline is not donned like a bonnet. It cannot be fastened securely around your chin. Discipline comes like birth, pain and pain and pain increasing until it is a separate little bastard that can be sent to its room without any dinner. That was a metaphor.

I may be wrong, Sleep. Maybe nothing will change but I have to know if it's your fault. Who else could it be?