An Open Letter to Tylenol PM

Dear Tylenol PM:

I've given it a lot of thought, and I've come to a difficult conclusion. We need to break up.

When we met, Tylenol PM, I thought you were everything I'd ever wanted. You tasted like vanilla, you helped me sleep soundly, and that dream where I was a lusty wench and Johnny Depp was Captain Jack Sparrow? Hot, Tylenol PM. H-O-T. After years of insomnia, nightmares and the occasional sleepwalking stroll, I thought I'd finally found my non-addictive answer.

After one month, two weeks and three blissful days in your more-nights-than-not company, however, we seem to have a problem. Where before I had trouble sleeping without you, now I am completely unable to do so. And when I wake up, I never really wake up -- I just kind of glide through my days with a cloudy focus and a dull headache. I'm not tired, exactly. I just feel like a walking ghost, despite the fact that I drooled all over myself for approximately nine and a half hours last night.

Please don't take this personally, Tylenol PM. I think you're just swell, but I have to stop depending on you. It's not you, it's me. My life before you wasn't a great life. It was a life where I slept about five hours on weeknights and then crashed for twelve hours each weekend night, traumatized by nightmares and occasionally taking off all my clothes while I slept and trying to climb on things, but it was mine. I hope you understand.

Love,
Jess

P.S. You didn't like, ruin my liver, did you?