Had another of my deep down dark dreamtime sleepy days today.

I judge that I have spent 16 of the last 20 hours asleep, roughly. As usual when I am going through one of these period, I am only able to stay awake long enough to eat, hydrate, and eliminate, and then it’s right back to the bottom of the cold black ocean to drown in my dreams for another little while.

Still, I knew it was coming, so it didn’t come as a surprise. I knew I had not been sleeping very well lately, getting only shallow and unsatisfying sleep when I did manage to actual catch a wink or ten. Obviously, there’s only so long that can go on before the Sleep Bank forecloses on your sleep debt and you have to pay the balance in full before you can do anything else.

As usual in these scenarios, caffeine is implicated somewhere along the line. I have been drinking Diet Coke with my nightly popcorn lately, and no doubt that propped up the low-sleep part of the cycle past its usual crash terminus and insured that today’s crash would be a spectacular one.

But I am not complaining. This is just how my life works. I am glad it happened on a day when I had absolutely nothing planned and nothing that needed doing. So there was no stress. Just lots of sleep and lots of dreams and the occasional islands of consciousness upon which to rest and resupply.

I am pretty sure that I am out of the woods now, or at least within sight of the end of the path. I have developed a feeling for what is going on during these periods, a sense of how much of the candle is left to burn. (Boy, I switch metaphors a lot, don’t I?)

And this internal sense tells me I have discharged most of the sleep debt. From this point on, I will likely get some more normal sleep (a rare thing with me) and then the clock will be reset and it will all start again.

There’s an outside chance that I am just between sessions. It has happened before. I have thought I was out of the woods and found out it was just an exceptionally large clearing. But I doubt it.

And speaking of sleep, the next thing on my tiny agenda is that sleep study thing.

Thursday night, I will be checking myself into Richmond Hospital for a full night sleep study. Not sure exactly what that means, but presumably, I will be checked into the hospital, covered in various kinds of sensor, and then be expected to take a nice clinically typical nap.

Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

I am fairly nervous about it. I don’t like being in hospital. It’s too far from my usual sources of comfort, and such a cold and uncaring place for the most part. I have occasionally entertained Munchausen’s Syndrome fantasies of how nice it would be to be in the hospital and have all your basic needs taken care of for you and be absolutely free from all sense of expectation that you will do something with your life.

I mean, give the guy a break, he’s been in the hospital!

But in reality, I would likely hate it too much to enjoy it. It would just be too damned boring. There is only so much time I can spend reading and doing crossword puzzles and napping before I just cannot stand it any more and I have to do something else.

And while this might sound odd coming from a guy who spends his entire life either in his bed, in front of his computer, or watching TV, I really can’t stand to be in one place for too long. And that does triple if that place is my bed. There is a reason why I spend my day in three places and not just one. If I really wanted to do so, I could no doubt centralize everything around my bed. Get my own TV and Wii, install those and my computer within reach of my bed, and have a perfectly sedentary, oral retentive heaven lifestyle.

But the idea disgusts me, to be honest. Moving around the apartment might not count much in terms of exercise, but it is way better than nothing. I already face the problem of developing this weird sort of antipathy to my own bed on a periodic basis. Hence my fantasies of living in a hotel and having fresh bedding whenever I want it. In fact, in many ways, the hotel fantasy is like a swankier and more indulgent version of the hospital fantasy. Way more expensive but with far more dignity and comfort than being in some crummy hospital bed.

Oh well, some day, I hope.

Also making me nervous is that I am supposed to have two forms of ID when I show up, and I don’t even have 1. This is becoming a real problem, and I am going to have to find some way to get some cash together so I can get a new CareCard and BCID. I had to attend VancouFur with a badge that said “underage” (opposite of an overage) on it because of my lack of picture ID.

Plus, there is a distinct feeling of existential incompleteness in lacking proper ID. Like on some abstract but deeply personal level, you don’t quite exist. Or at least, you can’t prove it.

So I suppose there is a small chance that I will show up without the proper ID and they will just plain turn me away. I would be both disappointed and relieved. Disappointed, because I want to get this done and it took like four months to get the appointment in the first place, but relieved, cause I could just go the hell home and sleep like a normal person.

So we will see what happens tomorrow. I will bundle up my clothes, my dying laptop, some books, and head off to the hospital.

I am trying to think of it as more of an adventure than an imposition.