I am Nyquil's bitch

Anyone who knows me in real life or has read me for some time now knows that sleeping is not exactly my forté. When I'm not having horror-flick quality nightmares or sleep-showering in my slippers, I'm a good old-fashioned insomniac. Red wine helps, but it also gives me migraines and I'm quite sure alcoholism isn't the best solution for my nocturnal difficulties.

I've been plagued with flus and colds and upper respiratory infections this year. I blame my office environment – it's germy here. The one bright light at the end of my mucousy tunnel has been that little red bottle, promising me nightly relief from my coughing, aching, stuffy head and fever – thereby allowing me to rest. That rest has been glorious, but it's also given me a big bad Nyquil habit.

I suppose there are worse things one could be addicted to. Heroin, Crack, Peaches & Herb. Last night, I was determined to get myself to sleep by 11:30. The Roommate cracked open a bottle of red, and after I did my nightly chores I had one glass. I then did some relaxing yoga poses to try to wind down. I got in bed around 11 and waited. Two cigarettes, some web surfing and one romp with ye old magic wand later, I still couldn't sleep. At 12:45, I succumbed to the siren song of my Nyquil and fell asleep almost instantly.

On some level, I know that I can't pound shots of Nyquil every night before I go to bed. I know I need to quit. And I will, just as soon as this bottle runs out. Or maybe the next bottle...