Dear Mr. Braids.
You´re a hardworking lad, I respect that, between cooking and boozecrafting I think it´s fair to say that your brothers and sisters would be far skinnier and angrier without your tireless labor!
Now if you need a nap to keep your tempo up, trust me, no one´s more pleased than me, but why the doorway to the grand stockpile?
Arguably the busiest tile on the entire map!
I was more than relieved to see that you did not in fact force the entire fort to take a detour around your narcoleptic self, but it now means that you´ve got a neverending stream of dwarves walking over and around you as you sleep, if indeed sleep is even the word for it!
I think Dr. Twitchy just ran you over with a wheelbarrow!
Now, I wouldn´t dream of telling you where to sleep or not, but might I suggest your room? Remember it? Decent size? Contains a soft bed, well crafted furniture and a statue of a... Blood gnat..? Ok, sorry about the statue, I´ll talk to Ms. Irons afterwards, but surely better than literally having the entire fort walking over you!
And I know, I know, after waking up, your neck turned 90 degrees to the side, with boot and wheelprints all over your bruised body, that it´ll be very tempting to go and tell me aaaall about how angry you are, maybe even throw a little hissy fit.
But I swear to Armok, if you do I will.... ... ...Post a very passive aggresive letter to your door! Seeing as how we´re quite few, and I´m yet to technically inept for deathtraps.
But still!
/Passive aggressive hugs and kisses.
/Dave. God of Wine, Carrion and Confusion.