Dear God,

I get it.

I'm being punished for all of those mornings I crept out of a South Beach nightclub into the morning light with a repetitive beat stuck in my head and a smile permanently affixed to my face thanks to the drugs that made it all possible.

Honestly, I think getting my five year old to force me to listen to two techno songs over and over and over and over and over and over again for weeks on end eleven years after the fact is cruel and unusual punishment.

You know it was never the music I liked---it was the rock star lifestyle of hanging out in VIP rooms with celebrities....and the drugs didn't hurt either. It's called Ecstasy for a reason, you know. It takes drugs to make this crap sound good, you know.

While I was typing this (with bass thumping in the background), little kid got into the fridge and poured baking soda all over the kitchen. What did I do to deserve that? Is someone feeling a little crabby over the whole church thing? Or what?

Let's negotiate here. I'll try to stay away from VIP rooms and drugs (this is surprisingly easy when you become a 30 year old mother of two) and you expel all demons from little kid and get on board with this whole "personal relationship with God that doesn't involve church on Sunday mornings" thing I've been trying to work out here.

I'm going to go clean up the kitchen. How 'bout you go help those kids in Darfur, end the war in Iraq, and get Big Kid back on track with some real music, mmmkay?

Yours Truly,
Ashley