The sling’s off, I’ve got my arm back, oh happy day, yadda yadda.
Let’s move forward.
This summer I’ve successfully visited one National Park, gone to the beach, and attended a horribly boring baseball game (great seats, great company, seriously shitty event). I’ve still got plans. It’s fucking summer and that means time for pool parties, camping, BBQ’s, WAY more beach time, basement shows, trips to NH, ME, PVD, and NYC and sealing it all up with a cross country road-trip before the crippling cold pummels New England yet again. In short: summer is about to be my bitch.
… but most of these things are yet to come, so let’s actually take a step back and explore the world of sleep walking/eating/gambling:
There are mornings, you and I both know, when you wake up oblivious to the previous nights’ goings on. Blacking out. Not an uncommon occurrence for those aged 21-30 (give or take). I myself have found myself in such a state a couple of times, I can’t lie… did you read the name of the blog? C’mon. You find yourself in your bed stinking of and Jameson and grilled cheese and PBR and and then you vaguely remember some two-bit, skank-ass ho’ named Bananacakes or some shit gave you a hard time down at the “Gentlemen’s” club because they played “Down with the Sickness” one too many times during your visit and maybe you got a bit sassy about it. So, that’s a night. That’s a story to tell, or a story to have told to you. You probably had fun! Go you. There’s a certain pill, I’ve come to find, that garners similar yet vastly different results.
I’ll be honest – I’ve never been into drugs. I’m not gonna judge, to each their own, so I really… can’t say at all first hand what going on a true blue “trip” is like and I’m super okay with that. I mean, I guess until now. Because this shit is straight up fucked. A common prescription and seemingly unassuming, sure. I mean you take it, you fall asleep, and you wake up non-hungover. Kinda rad, right? I generally have trouble sleeping (to an annoying extent) so this was a welcome addition to my post-surgery arsenal. I think it could be understood that trying to get to sleep with the equivalent of a throw pillow tied to your arm and torso by two belts is not what one would consider an ideal situation, or comfortable, so there’s where the cycle starts. Take a pill, go to sleep, wake up. Take a pill, go to sleep, wake up. Take a pill, go to sleep, wake up… covered in chocolate and red pepper flakes. Also, a glass of lemonade… with red pepper flakes. And also, the kitchen is covered in chocolate footprints. And the light-switch is covered in, you guessed it – chocolate. So, that’s weird. But there’s an empty carton of ice cream in the trash, so… I ate it?
Apparently, sleep eating is not an uncommon side-effect of Ambien. People have been known to put out cigarettes in sandwiches and then eat them on the stuff. Thank fuck I don’t smoke.
Another night, similar routine: angrily (the Percocet Roller Coaster… another matter for another time) make some dinner, have a glass of wine, take a pill… wake up with pretzel sticks, hummus and a losing lottery ticket. For the record, I hate pretzels. I don’t remember the last time I went out and bought pretzels for myself. I mean, I guess that’s apparent. Because that’s apparently exactly what I did that night. In a zombie-like state, I left my apartment to go to the store to buy fucking pretzels and a lottery ticket. In the middle of the night. Asleep. There are eye witness accounts of this that were later relayed with both amusement and concern. Where did I go? Who did I talk to and scare the bejeezus out of with my zombie-like swaying hither and tither and possible REM cycle ramblings? I will never understand why, of all things, I chose pretzels. That scares me most of all.
So, that’s the end of that. In my opinion, stealthy weight gain and getting hit by a car when you’re walking (or driving?!) around at night on your way to buy snacks you abhor is not the way to live. And then subsequently die. Fuck you, Ambien.