Of the Different Modes of Acquiring the Non-Understanding of Things, or One Girl's Touching Journey Into Cynicism and Misanthropy
Monday, April 28, 2008
If you ever become, like me, a raging insomniac, there is really only one answer. And that, my friends is that darling little oblong Ambien tablet.*
Sure you sleep walk and binge on wierd stuff like chocolate cake and sauerkraut while writing blog entries and e-mails full of unexplainable grammatical and spelling errors. Or you decide to get involved in some housing project like FINALLY potting that orchid, or snaking your drain. That you leave unfinished. And wake up wondering who the hell's been in your apartment acting like the dude in "This Old House".
The best are the conversations. I have had some of my most intense, passionate, and rawly honest late night phone conversations on the stuff. I'm not sure I really remember them, but I am convinced upon waking up in the morning that they might have helped me to turn a corner and to be open to love and life again.
Which leads me to the two final beauties of Ambien. The first is right before you start getting tired, feelings of contentment, joy, and hope begin to crawl through your frame. I call this the "second glass of wine at your best friend's spring outdoor wedding" sensation. All is right, life is beautiful. And apparently it is, since people are now using it as a recreational drug.
But the second beauty is that you, Mr. or Ms. Insomiac, are going to sleep well. Like I'm about to do.
*BTW, I'm not getting any money from the makers of Ambien for my glowing recommendation, but wouldn't mind if they gave me some.
Crunching conundrums, blasting boredom, eliciting criticism, languishing while laughing, blaming poetry (and/or the lack of) for all of my choices, leaving it to the stars or the people better equipped to handle it, cackling at catastrophe and saying sayanora to sourpusses and sore losers