Signed, Sealed, Streamed (Now Sleeping)

Dear YouTube Algorithm,

With weary eyes and a heart full of bittersweet melodies, I hereby submit my resignation from the role of Late-Night Nostalgic Music Video Binger.

After years of loyal commitment—from the sultry strains of “Careless Whisper” echoing past heartaches to the dark drama of “November Rain” reverberating youthful angst, not to mention bizarre midnight journeys into the wonderfully weird world of Björk’s feline matrimony in “Triumph of a Heart”—it’s time for me to part ways with this nocturnal ritual.

The nerves are sending shimmering signals

All through my fingers, the veins support

Blood that gushes impulsively towards

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all

The stubborn trunks of these legs of mine

Serve as pathways for my favorite fuel

Heading upwards towards my kidneys

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all

Smooth, soft, red, velvety lungs

Are pushing a network of oxygen joyfully

Through a nose, through a mouth but all enjoys, all enjoys

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all

The triumph of a heart that gives all, that gives all - Björk

My circadian rhythm has lodged repeated grievances, staging silent protests with each sunrise greeted with bloodshot eyes. My dreams now play exclusively to the melancholic yet strangely comforting tune of “Here Comes the Rain Again,” an endless loop of Eurythmics in my subconscious. Even my pillow, my steadfast companion in countless late-night viewings, has begun giving me the silent treatment, a downy disapproval of my disrupted sleep schedule.

Here comes the rain again

Falling on my head like a memory

Falling on my head like a new emotion

I want to walk in the open wind

I want to talk like lovers do

Want to dive into your ocean

Is it raining with you?

So, baby, talk to me

Like lovers do

Walk with me

Like lovers do

Talk to me

Like lovers do

Here comes the rain again

Raining in my head like a tragedy

Tearing me apart like a new emotion (Ooh)

I want to breathe in the open wind

I want to kiss like lovers do

Want to dive into your ocean

Is it raining with you?

So, baby, talk to me

Like lovers do

Walk with me

Like lovers do

Talk to me (Ooh)

Like lovers do

So, baby, talk to me

Like lovers do

Ooh

Ooh, yeah

Here it comes again

Ooh

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey

Here comes the rain again

Falling on my head like a memory

Falling on my head like a new emotion (Here it comes again, here it comes again, ah)

I want to walk in the open wind

I want to talk like lovers do

Want to dive into your ocean

Is it raining with you? (Ooh, here it comes again) -Eurythmics

This wasn’t an easy choice for me. I’ll always treasure the countless hours I spent watching “Time After Time,” lost in Cyndi Lauper’s world, and the subsequent internal debates I’d have about whether it was truly too late for me to rock a half-shaved hairstyle with any semblance of coolness. And who could forget the deep, almost anthropological dives I took into analyzing the profound philosophical meaning behind David Lee Roth’s skintight animal-print pants? (Spoiler alert: after extensive research and contemplation, I can confidently say there isn’t one. But the act of inquiry was… something.)

But the time has undeniably come for a new chapter in my life: Woman Who Goes to Bed at a Reasonable Hour. I leave behind a rich and varied digital trail, a testament to my dedication: countless hours of VH1 nostalgia, those obscure B-sides I somehow always managed to unearth, and that one playlist I optimistically titled “I Swear I’m Only Watching One More.”

Therefore, I must request that you kindly redirect all future nostalgic impulses to the more socially acceptable hours of “Saturday Afternoons Only.” Furthermore, please extend my sincerest apologies to Sade and inform her that I will no longer be performing impromptu hairbrush concerts to her smooth, soulful tunes at 2 a.m. My neighbors, and quite possibly my own sanity, will thank you.

Thank you for the memories, the often-grainy dance montages that somehow still managed to evoke such strong emotions, and the truly baffling fashion choices that consistently defied all logic and yet held a certain undeniable charm (can I pull off a nose chain piercing?).

It’s been a wild ride—a journey as unpredictable and exhilarating as…

…a cowboy…on a steel horse I ride…I'm wanted dead or alive…Wanted dead or alive

Warm regards,

Jennifer (Your Former VP of “Oops I Watched It Again”)