I'd rather sleep when I'm dead

I met my new psychiatrist yesterday. Nice guy. In half an hour, he gleaned enough insight about me to come to this startling diagnosis: I’m really stressed out. Gee, thanks. Now can I get back to my regularly scheduled programming?

Actually, I was pretty excited to tell him I’d weaned myself from over-the-counter sleeping pills, which my former psych cleared me to take as needed.

The new guy asked me how much sleep I’m getting now; I told him about four hours a night. He looked a little alarmed and said I need at least seven or eight hours a night to function properly. I grudgingly told him I’d start the OTC pills again (an out-and-out lie) ... but he was insistent about writing me a prescription for Ambien (that's the pretty compound you're looking at).

Now, I’ve done fine for years without prescrip sleeping pills. But, just for the heck of it, I filled the prescription and took an Ambien about 10:30 last night. (Hey, never say never!)

At 10:45 a.m. this morning, Mattie told me to check my sent mail. Here’s what I sent him, time-stamped 7:29 a.m. I’ve censored it:

Fillad the Ambien and Xamx prescribpatiosn last night. Ambien oatient info s]= to alwlow for sever or eight hours f9 slee0 so I opstend for eight. I woke up relaly groggy. Like i can't really gunction groggh, tropped on the bed and cakkm I guess wjll try to get everything sucey up sof you have a kiln or something. ****, hoa am i goinf tograve to work **** **** ****. And thers a baskejball game in the middlw of the afyernoon. I shhjouleve known it was aiutak rugh to fill. ****. amaybe i need some caffgiene, ****. eonomu

os god please te.;; me thsi is not that strange, i sast watntl tk go back to slepp ,. aoyk sssays he hates 5his arr3lint but i think i6s a nife feeling of just rloaalom th5outh my soul. I habent felt so drgged in a vong tme. O neeeh to findsome caffeime and shower. i wantdd to talk ti yiu and ask 6oi wanted tk ask absout this andglass, **** wjwa6 di u di fin. s **** **** .

I have no recollection of sending it. Anterograde amnesia. I'm familiar with the concept (I take a couple of benzodiazepines), but I've never had anything more than some serious fuzzy-headedness.

One look at this e-mail and I am absolutely horrified, like sick-to-my-stomach horrified. I frantically went through my phone logs, text messages, etc., to make sure I hadn’t tried to contact anyone else, but it looks like Matt was the only person to receive thoughtful musings this morning. Thank god. At least he’s not shocked about it as much as I am.

In fact, he was pretty cool, telling me, “Why's it embarrassing? I've done way stranger things under the influence.” That makes me feel better -- and it's true: He did some pretty stupid things in the six weeks he stayed here, and that's six weeks out of ... how old is he again? Almost 24?

I can pick out certain elements of that e-mail. Have Ambien and Xanax. Slept eight hours. Woke up groggy. Tripped over bed. How's the glasswork/kiln? Have to go to work. Basketball game today. Need caffeine. Feel drugged. Extensive cursing.

God, this is seriously embarrassing.