Missing Ambien

I used to write blog entries after taking Ambien but before becomming horizontal. I think I was a lot funnier when I was on Ambien. Maybe because I didn't remember what I wrote, until I read it the next morning. Here's an example from 2004, but please note:

1) It was written in the end of January and proves I really do go insane this time of year, every year.

2) Much of what I wrote is made-up shit. I wasn't really institutionalized. Just so ya know.

3) I miss Obi-Wan.

So here's a look back to 2004:


So I just got back from the mental institution. It wasn't so bad as you would think; in fact it was quite nice.

It all started with the voices. The ones that were telling me that Keith Olbermann was communicating with me telepathically through his eyebrow. That wasn't so bad, since Keith is really funny. I always thought he communicated to me through TiVo, but it turns out his eyebrow has special powers which he enhances by throwing wadded up paper at the studio cameras.

Then there was the one that said she was the anti-Flylady. Or was she flylady's aunt? Anyway, she'd show up in my brain somewhere around 10am and tell me to serve my kids Cheetoes for breakfast while still wearing my pyjamas, discourage me from showering, and crack open a Shiner because drinking time was a-waistin'.

Julia Childs' ghost showed up to tell me I had to cook lots and lots of food that no one would ever eat.

Qui-Gon Jinn's ghost came along and begged me not to fall under the power of the dark side. I think he got lost somewhere in the Force because he kept saying, "Anakin! The force didn't tell me you were a female! I would have held on to my physical form if I had realized I would be getting to look at your tits all day while I trained you! Damn force." I think he finally figured it out when I couldn't manipulate the force well enough to levitate a beer from the fridge for myself.

It was actually quite pleasant dressing like The Dude from "The Big Lebowski." Robes are comfy.

Finally the Jesus of Cheese realized there was something amiss, and hauled me into the funny farm for observation. Hey, no problem. More comfy jammies to wear, people speaking in low tones, someone else doing the cooking, no one asking me for lollipops and chocolate milk and lost toys. Well, no one I actually had to answer, anyway. There were no crumbs in my bed, and I was not forced to watch children's programming on Public Television. Lots of trashy novels to read and lots of time to read them.

I was diagnosed as not being a danger to myself or others, so they sent me home. With some lovely tranquilizers. Being tax season and all, the Jesus of Cheese needed me to use my intrauterine location device for the papers we need for the IRS, and he's kinda wishing the Julia Childs were back to help with the food for the Superbowl thing we're having, and Qui-Gon to levitate the beer keg into the house. No problem. Obi-Wan has already shown up and said he'll do it.

Anyone want to come over on Superbowl Sunday? I'll mostly be smoking in the garage next to the keg, chatting with the voices in my head. 'Cept for Obi-Wan. He's real.