If you know me in the real life, you likely know that I have sleep issues. Issues is putting it mildly. Since I was a child, I have required an ungodly amount of sleep; we’re talking eight or nine hours nightly. For most of my life, I have also lived like a new parent without the newborn. I’m up every two hours and too exhausted to do anything of real value like clean the house or peep on the neighbors. No, my mind is not racing. No, I am not under excessive stress. Yes, I have tried a life without caffeine. Yes, I have exercised and changed my diet and done all the things one would think to do in order to solve this thing. No, I do not fall asleep at the wheel. No, I have not fallen asleep during sex. Yet. Occasionally, I will be so tired during the day that I’ll seek out a place to sleep. My couch is preferable but my car will do. It’s all incredibly taxing.

With some mild coaching, as is required for me to address all things health, I went to a sleep clinic this weekend. And being Kris, I took notes.

FRIDAY

8:45 pm: I arrive five solid minutes before the other person who is going in for a sleep study. It’s a dude. We sit in our cars, taking turns looking back at each other to see who will get out of the car first. I do, of course, because 1) I am an anxious being, and 2) I will be the first to the electrodes, dammit.

9:20 pm: There is a television in my room and I am over the moon. I am first to get the electrodes (suck it, slow dude) and while she’s gluing them to my head, the lovely sleep tech and I watch the Haiti telethon. We bond immediately over Brad Pitt’s disgusting beard. He always claims he does it for a movie, yet neither of us has ever seen his atrocious hair star in a film. I like her and decide it won’t be embarrassing at all to allow her to put sensors on my fat parts.

9:42 pm: As she’s applying electrodes to my scalp, I’m tempted to ask her if I have dandruff. I decide against it. Soon after this I reel at her offhand comment that her mother is 42 years old. Am glad that the electrodes aren’t yet functional, lest she see my brain explode on screen.

10:15 pm:  No one told me there’d be nostril sensors. Metal ones.

10:33 pm: Am completely aware of camera staring at me in dark. Am star in Lost/Silence of the Lambs crossover. Despite fear of being made into skin suit, I sleep.

SATURDAY

4:38 am: Am awake and hesitant to ask to go to the bathroom because I fear all human beings.  I ask and feel ballsy. She unhooks my 71 wires and I walk down the hall braless. Upon my return I read In Style magazine and praise the stylist who finally recommended Christina Ricci get bangs. Am so damn tired. I fall just under the sleep.

5:58 am: why do you wake me let me seep please lady five more minutes ok I’ll put my clothes on.

5:59 am: Ooooh! Clinic danish!

6:18 am: Realize only now how dumb I was. I shouldn’t have raced the dude into the building. He got to sleep an extra 20 minutes.

6:22 am: Am struck that I have some of the same art work as the sleep clinic, those pastel impressionist prints you get at college art fairs. Make mental note to change this as soon as I get home.

6:44 am: While looking at package picture of fruit gummies staged next to actual fruit, am contemplating just how ludicrous serving suggestions are.

6:50 am: Day tech arrives. He explains that we’ll go through new exercises starting at 7 am. The plan is for me to stay awake for an hour and a half, then nap for 30 minutes. We’ll do this five times, or until I grow grey armpit hair, whichever comes first. Am fighting with every fiber of being to stay awake.

7:00 am: Naptime!

7:30 am: Evil male tech tells me I must get up. Cannot keep my eyes open. This is worse than boot camp.

9:30 am: We just did another naptime. I’m a champ and for both half-hour naps I fall asleep within five minutes. I also sleep after I’m woken from the nap, a clear no no, and have now been told twice NOT TO SLEEP AT THE SLEEP CLINIC. I am thinking my inability to stay awake during the day EVEN IN THE FOREIGN ENVIRONMENT OF THE SLEEP CLINIC might be clinically significant, but I’m tethered to the bed by wires, unable to convince the tech with my dramatic hand gestures, and I’m also guessing they planned it this way. I resolve to let the people do their jobs.

9:42 am: In other news, being wired to the bed isn’t all that bad, as I can see people going to the gym across the street. My unwashed, glue-laden hair and I mock them. I eat half a pack of orange tic tacs.

10:53 am: Back to sleep.

11:23 am: I win sleep study queen for all time. Three scheduled naps and I’ve been asleep within five minutes on each. BOOYAH, PRODUCTIVE PEOPLE! Am saddened that no one has given me trophy or tiara.

12:09 pm: Have discovered that the only things that will keep me awake are new episodes of Jersey Shore. Sad, but apparently clinically effective. Am wondering if I’ll dream about skee ball on next nap.

12:53 pm: Tech is aware that I have issue. Just asked me if anyone in my family has narcolepsy. I suddenly feel infinitely cooler than I did 60 seconds ago.

1:23 pm: He wakes me again. Have now slept for four of the five naps and have the hair nest to prove it. Wish I had brought camera or sketch artist.

2:13 pm: I’ve moved on to Teen Mom. The douchebaggery of most of these girls’ boyfriends is helping to keep me awake. Thank God for MTV. I also haven’t had a Diet Coke in 21 hours, and I think we all know that I’m on the very verge of ripping these cords off my body and raiding the fridge. I could hear the tech eating chips and drinking soda earlier. Fizzzzzzzzzz. Chomp chomp. Fizzzzzzzzz. Murr.

2:20 pm: Migraine is setting in.

2:53 pm: Sweet Jebus last nap. I do my damndest but cannot fall asleep. My head hurts so badly, and I fear that this failure will earn me detention naps. Or residence in the lotion pit.

3: 13 pm: AM DONE. Man tech comes in to remove wires. Hair is so matted that he cannot remove all the tape. Giggle that adhesive rings on chest are still noticeable, giving the appearance of four nipples. Consider going on date.  Decide instead on Taco Bell drive through, where I get the largest Diet Pepsi they have available, and stress the requested size to the clerk more than once. I high tail it home and check all corners of the apartment for night vision cameras and a sewing machine.

I sleep.

Results in one to two weeks. Now on to the MRI.