Dear Paycheque,
It's your girl, Kemsa.
Please do me the most endeared honor of coming into my mailbox (at around noon) tomorrow. The thought of waiting for your anticipated arrival is brutally painful to my... ego. As Boy George once sang, "do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?" I didn't think so.
I really, really need you to live.
With Truest of Love,
Kemistry
