Diary of a Somnambulist

Diary of A Somnambulist by J.B. Pravda

'Good morning; good night'-----I don't know what those words mean
anymore, hardly.

Sometimes, I find myself out of my bed, not remembering how I got
there; the doctors say I sleepwalk; they measure my brainwaves, but the
results are 'inconclusive', they say. They call it 'narcotizing
dysfunction', even though I don't use drugs----only the ones they
prescribe, for sleeping. Sometimes I use television to relax, but the
people I see there grin and grind out 'good morning' so much even that
doesn't help much lately. I don't really listen to them anymore, just
watch; maybe that's when I sleep, but my eyes are open, I
think&;#8230;.

So they came up with this diary idea, except I don't remember much to
write down; when I can, I don't know if I dreamed something or it
actually happened. They're doing more brain wave studies, looking for
'theta' or something like that, supposed to show 'thinking'. Also, they
think exercise could help, getting a good workout so I will fall asleep
deeper, sounder; I can't really tell, even though I run every day it
doesn't seem to help----can't seem to turn off my brain. It's not like
I'm 'thinking', not really, only sort of listening to things from
habit, the docs call it 'white noise'.

I can't think of anything more to put down; I feel tired, maybe I'll go
lie down. Anyway, nobody I know can sleep much like they used to,
joking amongst ourselves 'hey, maybe we're asleep when we're awake,
awake when we're asleep'&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;hard to tell;
I mean, how can you prove that you're 'awake', right, brainwaves?
They're 'inconclusive'; well, Good night??