sleep-eating, sleep-poetry

My pain increases throughout the day, so I take ambien to get to sleep.  If I don't go to bed right after I take it, strange things happen.  I will all at once slip into a kind of half-sleep, walk downstairs to the kitchen, and fix myself a snack.

   One morning I woke up and found an ice cream bowl and spoon on my bed table.  They looked familiar.  

   One night I apparently paged through the New York Times, clipped out 4 stories for B. to read, and highlighted the key points with a yellow marker.  

   None of the stories were ones that Awake René would have cared about.

In the past month, B. has twice encountered me wandering around in the middle of the night.  He says that I answered him when he spoke to me: 

B:  What are you doing out of bed?

 

me:  I've been walking in the garden.

   (We don't have a garden.)

B:  What are you doing out of bed?

me:  I understand the language of the Incas.