So I'm a horrible insomniac - everybody who knows me is aware of this fact (if you weren't, you might not have been aware that we've had a chimpanzee impersonating our head of state the for last eight years, either, but I digress). Anyway, I've been to the doctor a few times over the past several years for other reasons and have always mentioned the insomnia problem to him. For some reason, however, my doctor has offered little to no help with this problem, which, of course, is just another way of saying, "That rat bastard damn fool won't give me any freakin' drugs!" Yeah, that's what I want. And it's what you want, and it's what the person sitting across the room from you wants and it's what all your kids want, too.
OK, so I went in to see the doctor for a routine checkup on January 5, and while I was there I mentioned the insomnia problem yet again, thinking that maybe the 634th time would be the charm. Instead he did some blood tests and called me back a week later to tell me I had high cholesterol. Great, doc, but, umm . . . I CAN'T FUCKING STAY ASLEEP MORE THAN TWO TO THREE HOURS IN A ROW ALMOST ANY NIGHT OF THE YEAR! That's right: not "any night of the week," but "any night of the motherfuckin' YEAR!" FUCK! What about THAT?
His suggestion? "Have you ever tried melatonin?" Well, I had tried it many years ago, and it had virtually no effect whatsoever. That was then, though, so I thought why not try it again? After all, I used to think that George Will was a douche bag, and now I think he’s a colossal douche bag! So obviously things do change, don’t they? I mean, if the American voter can choose a black dude with almost no political experience over an old, rich white war hero, isn't just about any kind of change possible? Melatonin it would be, I decided.
I am now about to enter my fourth night of the Great Melatonin Experiment, and what have I to show for it? Would you believe a post-apocalyptic ....New Orleans....? Huh? What's that? Yes, that's correct: a post-apocalyptic Big Easy. That's the kind of fucked-up dream I've been having multiple times a night for the last three nights. Two of my ex-girlfriends have made frightening appearances in these dreams, one of whom inhabited a dream for the sole purpose of running me over in her car (I'm still not sure if her intent was to kill me or merely maim me by hitting me with her car; hopefully my subconscious will be quick enough on its feet to squeeze in an inquiry the next time she pops up in my dream). Another dream found me at a restaurant angrily confronting Saints head coach Sean Payton about why he had ordered the stuffed bell pepper instead of fried chicken for lunch. Obviously my subconscious is not nearly as obsessed as I am with trying to find out why coach Payton refused to put in Deuce McAllister in short yardage situations against both Washington and Denver earlier this past season. But out of all the strange dreams I've had the last three nights, none can top one of the dreams I had last night. You see, in this dream I was living in a ....New Orleans.... under martial law . . . because brain-devouring zombies were overtaking the city after a nuclear attack had left the it in ruins. Don't ask me why I wasn't a zombie as well; I mean, it's my subconscious - it's not exactly the most rational entity in the universe we're talking about here! At one point I found myself speeding along ....Airline Drive.... with a police car chasing me, but I absolutely refused to pull over. Could you blame me? I didn't know if it was the regular NOPD or the zombie NOPD that was chasing me - and I don't even know which one scares me more! The whole thing was just completely irrational. At one point I even ducked into the ultra sleazy London Lodge Motel to escape the zombies and ended up turning on the miraculously functioning tv with satellite reception, flipping right past the Red Sox game and onto a porn channel! How preposterous a scenario - I would never choose porn over the Red Sox in real life! Does anything under the influence of melatonin make any sense? Apparently not.
It is 2:39 AM, and the melatonin pill should be going to work very shortly. Based on the last few nights of bizarre dreams and disturbing nightmares one could easily understand my apprehension about what kind of dreams await me later. Throw in the fact that I went straight from being surrounded by thirty small children at a friend's daughter's sixth birthday party to watching The Dark Knight earlier tonight, and I'm beginning to think I should have just gone back to NyQuil and called it a week.
