Upon conducting in-depth research for a recent post about my love affair with Ambien, I uncovered a startling truth: I have been taking this fine pharmacological hallucinogen since I was a sophomore in high school.
Soon after discovering this astonishing information I found that I couldn’t sleep, took an Ambien, and subsequently forgot about the aforementioned astonishing information.
So surprised was I today when I recalled this scary fact that I decided to look into the issue deeper. Further investigations in the field of mathematical analysis revealed an even more appalling fact. Careful calculations that took into account onset age of first usage, minus current age, equaling time spent half-awake tripping out on imaginary bed fairies…adds up to ten years.
Ten years! That’s practically a decade. The gestation period of an abnormally large and well-developed Tyrannosaurus rex. The time it takes for Train A that left Boston at 3:20 p.m. traveling at two m.p.h. to collide with Train B that left San Francisco at 8:49 p.m. traveling at negative eight m.p.h. The time it takes for John McCain’s handlers to air enough commercials to adequately compare and contrast the growth of his jowls over time and adept presidential-worthy aptitude for being carried out of Vietnam prisons on stretchers.
Nearly a baker’s dozen of birthday cakes have come and gone (most likely gone, what with the late night Ambi-binges) since I first experienced sleep in a bottle. Yes, I know I said I thought I was immune to sleep eating, but when I discovered yet another empty bag of parmesan Goldfish this morning, well, even I had to admit that it could not have been the work of our elusive invisi-pug. No, my favorite food in the world was reduced to a few broken dorsal fins and my tongue burned from what could only be 18,000 milligrams of sodium and real cheese flavor. It’s not my fault; it’s that damn theme song that permeated my subconscious. I do love fishes and they are delicious.
These three discoveries (that I have filled innumerable sleep aid prescriptions, single-handedly wiped out whole schools of the fish shaped snack food population, and made a mental Venn diagram of McCain verses basset hounds) have conspired to form what is known in NA (and the Human Spider documentary I just watched about the world’s best solo climber ) as rock bottom. I believe this terminology may also be used in Boflex commercials, Baywatch casting guidelines, Chuck Norris’s daily shaving rituals, and Preparation H symptom charts. And while that is all well and good, what this means for me is that it’s time to get off the Ambien and get on with my life. (Similar to the song Get Out of my Dreams and Into my Car, only less creepy.)
And so, right now, at 1:51 a.m. I can proudly say that I am Nicole and I have been off of Ambien for fifteen hours. How have I managed this seemingly unimaginable feat, you ask? Well, the answer, my friends, is (I know, you just got a Peter, Paul and Mary song stuck in your head, didn’t you?) the answer is that I have found a new way to entertain myself. Instead of staying up all night entertained by the flashing lights on my household appliances (see FAQ # 185 below) I am staying up all night reading grimy, OCD-inducing library books while fighting the urge to return them before taking a bath in Purell.
What do people do to library books? Each one I check out seems to have been doused with more egg yolk and Spam juice than the last. I can’t imagine the horrors that would appear if these books were placed under a black light. Actually, that’s not true. I can imagine anything, including book lice trapped in semen, and am doing so right now. Great. Now I cannot finish reading the last few chapters of John Hodgman’s hilarious book The Areas of my Expertise, which for the sake of sleeping synonyms everywhere, I must say, was hilarious.
I can’t trip out and peacefully fade into faux sleep with Ambien. I can’t read my library books. There is only one thing left to do. Reclaiming my place as Most Productive Insomniac Ever, I am off to watch Ryan Seacrest’s identical twin sister hock ShamWows in late-night infomercials. Who knows, maybe I can order one to clean my library books.
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