To My Roommate Who Keeps Making Milkshakes at 3 A.M.

I admit I haven’t been the best roommate. Yes, I meet weekly with our third roommate in secret in order to plan different ways to make your life miserable. Yes, I plan enormous parties where we illegally commit high-stake crimes in your room, like getting involved in the avocado cartel dealings of Northern Mexico and torrenting movies. And yes, I play Daddy Yankee’s entire discography every morning as an alarm.

With all that said, I’m not entirely a piece of shit. Sometimes, I make you quesadillas. Sometimes, they’re good. So — I’m asking nicely — is it possible for you to let me sleep one of these days by not making milkshakes at three in the fucking morning or using the microwave for whatever reason?

The amount of money I’ve spent on melatonin and earmuffs is already horrifying, but even seeing my baggy eyes in the morning, you never make any move to apologize? That's what hurts me most. It doesn’t even make any sense for you to be doing this. You have a class at nine a.m., don’t you? Fuck you. Go to sleep. Unlike you, I still care, and I can't stand the sight of you like this.

And for god's sake, let Jack go already. He's not going to text back. Please. If not for me, do it for you.