You Can Sleep When You’re Dead

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It’s another fabulous episode of therapy thursdays and the good doctor is in. There’s a fancy little newsletter you can sign up for to the right if you’d like automatic updates of when sweet blogs like these are posted.

DOC: You look tired.

LRE: Gee thanks for the compliment. The guys at work tell me that all the time, but it’s usually because I haven’t put on mascara yet.

DOC: Did you put on your mascara?

LRE: Not exactly. But I never took it off last night so I’ve still got some black residue clinging to my lashes.

DOC: You still look tired.

LRE: I’m glad you reminded me. How would you like me to respond? And I FEEL tired, too? But I feel just grrrreat? I’m not tired, I got a full five hours last night? I’m not tired cuz I don’t have a decent excuse like a new baby or kids waking me up with a cough?

DOC: Should we talk about your trouble with sleeping?

LRE: Sure, but only if it includes a discussion on Ambien.

DOC: Would you like me to prescribe you some Ambien?

LRE: You’re a made-up doctor; you can’t prescribe.

DOC: Then why talk about Ambien?

LRE: Because it makes for entertaining stories.

DOC: Huh?

LRE: That’s such a professional way to ask for more details. In reality, you should ask Megs, “Huh?” To be honest, I don’t remember any of the details regarding Ambien experiences. I just believed what my roommates told me. Or you could probably ask Nichole. I bet she remembers, too.

DOC: Who are Megs and Nichole?

LRE: You can check the cast of characters. Yeah, do that. You want to hear my story?

DOC: Only if it doesn’t take too long. This is getting to be a lengthy blog already.

LRE: Right, thanks for the brevity reminder. Once upon a time, I took an Ambien and went to bed—climbed onto the top bunk of the bedroom in Provo that I had to myself. The next morning, my roommates told me what happened when I climbed out. They told me something like this (I have full rights to exaggerate for purpose of making this an interesting blog).

The next door neighbors came over asking for help. Apparently they didn’t want me to stay the night in the closet in one of THEIR back bedrooms. I can’t understand why they would complain. I DON’T snore; I DON’T move around; and really, I DON’T sleep much either, even on Ambien. So my roommate came and very nicely tried to coerce me back to my bed. I hope she tried something like: We can go and find your baby blanket which you have neatly folded in your closet and you can sleep with that; there’s no baby blanket in THIS closet.

Instead of going straight back to bed like I was asked, I went and sat with one of the boys in the front room. I suppose that HIS lap looked more comfortable than the closet and not as far of a walk as MY bed.

Eventually, all of my roommates, all of the neighbors, and the boy with the comfortable lap escorted me back to my bed and whipped out the duct tape. “Now STAY.” I later got up (using my super human strength to rip through the tape) and purchased personalized cat collars for my brother’s cat.

DOC: Is that how the story went?

LRE: Um, SURE, something like that. Mostly.

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