It is with great remorse that I send this correspondence.
On December 26, 2014, the war on sleep came to a screeching halt.
That is not to say that the war is over. But in light of recent events and the outcome of last night's battle, we may need to prepare a new strategy.
The man is celebrating. He's dancing.
He cannot dance. He has the rhythm of a washing machine.
He is hugging mom.
WHY DOES SHE BOTHER? HE IS SO UGLY AND SHE IS SO PRETTY.
They are celebrating. They've brought out cups of their steamy black beverage. This seems to be their way of shrugging off the war that I've devoted my entire life to.
He is sprinting down the hall and has started talking to my allies.
If I don't have the furry miniature beings on my team, who do I have?
Their lack of loyalty will not be forgotten.
I can see him across the room on his communication console, surely preparing a formal declaration of our armistice.
WE ARE NOT DONE HERE, SIR.
What did I do wrong? Was it all the smiling I did? Perhaps when auntie Haley and Krista held me and I opened my eyes, I became a self saboteur.
I cannot believe I fell into his trap. He set me up and I fell for it.
It's hard not to feel like a failure.
I'm rethinking my entire life.
6 days. And for what? What progress have I made in the war against sleep?
The agony of defeat will not soon be forgotten.
You've won the battle, sir. But the war has just begun.
I've got one last attack planned for today, which should help me regain the upper hand.
DOUBLE DIAPER BOMBS