Dear Anyone-Who-Does-Not-Live-on-the-East-Coast,

I know it is hard for us, the whole time difference thing. I used to be the same as all you glorious PST peeps. But that was so three hours ago.

Know that in my heart, I am still PST but now that I am EST, I live by new rules guided by a clock I cannot control. So when you text me at 9pm, it is really midnight. And the older I get, the earlier I wake up. And the earlier I wake up, the earlier I fall asleep.

You should know that my phone never goes off. Never. I am a fatalist, so if there is an earthquake, an accident, someone ran out of gas, or the bastard finally lived up to his name, I want to make sure my phone is within reach. But most of the time, trauma is not what wakes me.

You should know that when you call at midnight, my "Ziggy Stardust" ring tone will blare. And when you text at midnight, PST, and "Don't Stop Believing" starts to sing from my phone, you have interrupted my REM sleep at 3am.

And if god forbid you are in Hawaii, like a newlywed bride I know, and you want to call me after dinner-say around 9:30pm, it will be 3:30am my time.

And like the sadist I am, I will pick up the phone no matter what to hear your tales about surfing or read your texts asking, "Have you started classes yet?"

In the wee hours of the morning, I am not in class. I am half alive, unable to correctly spell via text, and the only joy in talking to me is the chance to hear my Barry White morning voice.

And if you don't mind me returning your call or text when I wake up, 6:30am EST, then continue to make contact.

I will let you do the math on that one.

Much Love,
-Angela