Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Four.

Dear Twitter,

Thanks for allowing me to see my friends' random, undeveloped, minute thoughts, rather than the detailed and interesting inner workings of their days and minds. That's obviously why I became friends with them in the first place, so I could read the series of endlessly interesting two-second texts about how they just ordered some fuckin' cheesesticks at Denny's and then received them and ate them.

Love,
Kymba

P.S. At 12:39 a.m. I wanted to punch you in the head.

Letter Number One-Hundred Fifty-Three.

Dear Inversion Exercise Equipment,

Nothing says "getting in shape" like hanging upside down on the broken lawnchairesque contraption that is the Teeter Hang Ups F5000.

Love,
Kymba