A Bit of Real Life, New York

Sleepless in Clinton Hill

despair tired
I haven’t slept properly in four days. Eh, Thanksgiving gluttony, what are you gonna do? My belly is pissed, regardless.

So where was I? Right, weird, jacked-up sleep schedule. Occasional insomnia hits us all–I think? But life as a consultant… I’m either DVR’ing till 3 am, waking up at 11 am, or just laying on my back trying not to scream WHYYYYY? I was relieved to hear that adults need 7-8 hours a night. For those who can live on 5, I salute you.

So what to do about this? Thoughts went immediately to Sominex, which made me feel like I’d taken a good hit of Walt’s blue meth. Next stop? The good ol’ primary doctor, who whispered the magic word: Ambien. Yeah, great remedy. For about six days. And you know that long list of side effects for medications you laugh at on commercials? I did too, until I woke up one morning covered in pretzel crumbs. And when did I devour said snack? Couldn’t tell you, because I was sleep eating. Why couldn’t I be sleep treadmilling? Sleep stomach crunching? Instead, I’m stuck with the image of myself doing the slow Walking Dead slump to my fridge at 4 am to eat cold prosciutto out the pack.

So no more unnatural sleep for me. Rock bottom was that last morning I woke up with a spoon stuck to my face and the remnants of a Haagen-Dazs container in a pool I directly stepped in.

Fine. People sleep normally all the time, I figured. A few days of tossing and turning and then back to 7 hours. Blissful, seductive 7 hours. Not a problem.

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