i'm only sleeping
The sleep study was last night. I thought I'd be in a cold lab on a plastic table with only a canvas bag for warmth while a team of bearded Hungarian technicians glared down upon my body through bulletproof glass from a control tower four stories high. But it turns out I was in a hotel room with a comfy blankie and a cheerful young tech named Julia.
She was administering to another sleepee across the hall when I arrived. I nestled in and self-fatigued by reading all the words of "Ivy Day in the Committee Room" by James Joyce:
- Well, I got Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and got Ward of Dawson Street. Fine old chap he is, too -- regular old toff, old Conservative! 'But isn't your candidate a Nationalist?' said he. 'He's a respectable man,' said I. 'He's in favour of whatever will benefit this country. He's a big ratepayer,' I said. 'He has extensive house property in the city and three places of business and isn't it to his own advantage to keep down the rates? He's a prominent and respected citizen,' said I, 'and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn't belong to any party, good, bad, or GZZZZZONK Z kgsnrtjkl;
She came back in and plugged me in over the course of an hour. A lot of wires pasted from scalp to calf. Cheerful Julia would not stop talking. I learned about her hatred of anime, her second job as a designer of interactive gaming whatnots, and her affection for Michael Caine. She told me the entire plot of Carrie, described what it's like to watch The Shining totally stoned, and held forth on woodcut representations of female Japanese phantoms: they are always wet, there is always fruit, they are always looking down and to the right, it is always summer, and they are always jilted, then drowned, then their ghosts emerge wet and weeping from the water.
She then turned off the lights and left me in my bed. Thanks, Julia.
I slept hard. I was tired and it was late.
At six A.M. she returned and plucked all the wires off me. She was quieter, probably worn out from listening to me snore all night. "Quite loudly at times," she offered.
As all savvy techs do, she got cagey about my results, and wouldn't say much about my sleeping defects, but told me I'd probably be a return customer.
"They'll probably want you to try a CPAP, so we'll likely end up doing this again. You don't have to, but you can request me if you want. Like a hairdresser."
I stayed for a while, enjoying a shower free of torment from persons under three feet tall, and crashed the complimentary hotel breakfast on my way out. Off now to get baked and rent The Shining.
She was administering to another sleepee across the hall when I arrived. I nestled in and self-fatigued by reading all the words of "Ivy Day in the Committee Room" by James Joyce:
- Well, I got Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and got Ward of Dawson Street. Fine old chap he is, too -- regular old toff, old Conservative! 'But isn't your candidate a Nationalist?' said he. 'He's a respectable man,' said I. 'He's in favour of whatever will benefit this country. He's a big ratepayer,' I said. 'He has extensive house property in the city and three places of business and isn't it to his own advantage to keep down the rates? He's a prominent and respected citizen,' said I, 'and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn't belong to any party, good, bad, or GZZZZZONK Z kgsnrtjkl;
She came back in and plugged me in over the course of an hour. A lot of wires pasted from scalp to calf. Cheerful Julia would not stop talking. I learned about her hatred of anime, her second job as a designer of interactive gaming whatnots, and her affection for Michael Caine. She told me the entire plot of Carrie, described what it's like to watch The Shining totally stoned, and held forth on woodcut representations of female Japanese phantoms: they are always wet, there is always fruit, they are always looking down and to the right, it is always summer, and they are always jilted, then drowned, then their ghosts emerge wet and weeping from the water.
She then turned off the lights and left me in my bed. Thanks, Julia.
I slept hard. I was tired and it was late.
At six A.M. she returned and plucked all the wires off me. She was quieter, probably worn out from listening to me snore all night. "Quite loudly at times," she offered.
As all savvy techs do, she got cagey about my results, and wouldn't say much about my sleeping defects, but told me I'd probably be a return customer.
"They'll probably want you to try a CPAP, so we'll likely end up doing this again. You don't have to, but you can request me if you want. Like a hairdresser."
I stayed for a while, enjoying a shower free of torment from persons under three feet tall, and crashed the complimentary hotel breakfast on my way out. Off now to get baked and rent The Shining.