Every so often, long after Ambien has told my body to shut down, my subconscious is compelled to express itself. In other words, while my conscious self is saying, hey, go to bed! my body is compulsively at the computer typing.
I realize that back in the day (way, way back) opium was a valid additive to the creative process. But, Coleridge I am not, and therefore, I have yet to write my Ambien-high Kubla Khan. What I have written has included stories with all the coherence of a dream wherein people and situations change violently for no reason. Entire shortstories have been short-circuited because my fingers weren’t on homerow and while I believed I was simply typing with my eyes closed (I do this a lot while I’m trying to visualize scenes) I was actually asleep and simply mashing keys.
Other friends have had similar experiences on Ambien, at least as far as doing something seemingly productive at the time only to awake the next morning with all of their panties individually folded and sealed in plastic sandwich bags with the time of packaging noted in sloppy Sharpie.
The only really bad thing about my Ambien activities is the residual grogginess the next morning and perhaps having left the lights on. The documents themselves are easily done away with (or put in a folder for me to giggle at later).
I’m glad I never have to explain to my husband why all of the sandwich bags are gone.