I've slain all but one of the ghosts from the TEOTWAWKI of my youth. This last one is the worst one: the midnight ghost.

I wake up almost nightly at the same time, and with a headache at 1 a.m. This may be because I was bombed at night, did hard nightshift labor for two years to survive, etc.

I refuse to take sleeping pills. I exercise a lot, eat right, have a positive outlook, etc.

I have tried most everything to cure my problem. Has anyone had success with a sleep disorder clinic?

-- Not Again! (seenit@ww2.com), February 06, 1999

Answers

I couldn't resist answering you. I work at a sleep disorder clinic. I will try your email address but in case it is not real, like mine, please leave the real one on this forum. I hesitate to use my real email address anymore as I have gotten blasted by some weird email from some other forums and learned a lesson. Anyway, I would need to hear more about your sleep problem. Do you snore? Are you overweight? are you a man or woman? What age? Do you always have a headache when you awaken? You may be giving a hint mentioning your previous nightshift. Also, y2k can rob sleep even in the most healthy, relaxed people. Let me know your email address and I will help you decide whether or not you need a sleep disorder clinic.

-- a mom (wasted@sleep.com), February 06, 1999.

Dear "a mom,"

I understand your need for anonymity on a public forum. That is why my email address here is also bogus. I will ask an Internet service provider for an adress where you may contact me.

Please watch this forum as I will post a bonefide email address here as soon as I make the arrangements.

Thank you. TTF

-- Not Again! (seenit@ww2.com), February 06, 1999.

TTF, After the great war in 1945 that I barely made it through I too experienced sleep disorders. What I try to do every night at bedtime to sort of suck the days events out of me is I generally have multiple sex partners until I pass out from over indulgence. I was actually prescribed by the doctor three wonderful young ladies whom I have named Buxom, Lilac and Oyster. I named them each after their greatest attributes. Buxom has the most wonderful breasts that I have ever layed eyes on. Lilac has the most wonderful snatch I have ever had my muscular structure attached to the floor of my mouth in. During my most exquisite moments with her I get so excited that I begin talking in tongues. And then theres my beautiful Oyster. She is quite the mollusk with her wonderful irregular shapes and folds that absolutely ingulf my purple headed yogurt slinger with wonderful delight. I oftin bring them all three into my bed with my wife and I. If you remember, my wife is the one that also has that same other problem you have with the hole in her head as you also do. She, I am sure told you how I have made hers much larger than it was when I married her. I will not allow another man around that hole in her head it is exclusively mine. I would like to tell you more and maybe in a later post I will offer my indulgences of the flesh to you as how they have helped to put my sleep disorders in to remission. One Eyed Gun Slinger

-- One Eyed Gun Slinger (Hnglikahors@oysterlove.cum), February 06, 1999.

To stay anon why not do what I did - setup a bogus address at YAHOO or HOTMAIL. My user name is Ytwok Board here.

-- Sysman (y2kboard@yahoo.com), February 06, 1999.

Funny guy,

I'm polishing my memoir. To keeep readers from crying I'm injecting satire. The following is an excerpt. Can you improve on it without succumbing to your presidential instincts:

" Despite F's heavy appearance, he could be an agile orchestrator in the barn. His bowed legs gave him an unexpected spring. He proved this when he flew into a rage after a cow whipped her moist, green tail across his face while he harvested her last drop of milk. I didnt know if she did this intentionally, but she aimed at the right target. Nor did I learn if F ate it, or if he closed his eyes and mouth during that critical moment. Green-faced, he jumped from his stool and yelled at the cow loud enough so that she would understand him. He emphasized his remarks by splitting his wooden stool on her hindquarters. After she had delivered him gallons of milk, mountains of money, and manure, this cow was dumbfounded.

Energetically she did airs above the ground while green ammo shot out of her back. An agonizing roar exploded from her front, together with a long tongue and white slobber.

The herd instinct produced a quick response. They had practiced this, for they knew that this would happen. Therefore they always kept fresh ammunition in their chambers. Milk flow stopped, tails went up, cowshit exploded in all directions. Each cow quickly unloaded via a second tail, a transient green one, arching toward the ground. Blobs of cowshit splashed off the floor, stuck to walls, people and buckets. Shit was flying everywhere, even though there was no fan. The oak barrel danced while flailing its stub-outs to escalate their tempo. It beat the cows and roared like a bull, confusing them further. The tempo rose to an ever-higher crescendo. Cows were bawling, bucking and kicking. Machines were crashing; milk was spilling while fresh cowshit was steaming up the grand ole opera barn.

Not enjoying this performance, I quietly stole away, taking two newly decorated buckets up to the milkhouse and emptying them into the shiny new stainless steel milk tank.

After Fs orchestra stopped its production, I returned to finish drawing white money out of green cows. They initiated me into the bovine orchestra, The Evergreen Orchestra. During their Opus Nine, final movement, the bovines had aimed at the hairy ends of their tails to load them with cowshit and waited until I had to continue to draw their milk. Then they vigorously whipped their brushes to paint me with the green team color so I would fit right in. After the cows had discharged all of their ammo, the oaken maestro disappeared and left me behind to continue my dirty work. I released his orchestra from the opera barn so I could commence the scooping from this pooping. Then I bathed the milk equipment with soap and chlorine and went back to the house where I tried to wash off my team color as best as I could in my personal little laundry tub. *** Since F worked in the mill at night, he mostly conducted his bovine orchestra on weekends. Besides having a hot temper, he was the stingiest man on earth and was a tyrant over his family. He scolded Fr that she wasted money on a toothbrush. A toothbrush was a waste, while spitting out teeth later in life was not. Halitosis did not matter. Even though F owned a farm and several houses, all mortgage- free, he bathed only once or twice a year, and then in someone elses water. This was also the frequency of my bathing and also the freshness of my water. Since I was a shy slave and F had scolded me for wasting water when I washed cowshit off my hands before eating, I bathed only when I was told to bathe. What was it about people who always told me what I could do and not do?

One day I discovered unadulterated cowshit on the back of my arm while I was sitting in class. I would have bored into a dung pile to escape from my embarrassment had there been one. I went to the restroom instead, nauseated. I dropped to the floor, hung my head into the toilet to barf, took a few deep breaths and recovered. I was too modest to tell the teacher:

Hey, Teach, excuse me for leaving class. But I was sick and had to hang my head in a toilet. The toilet cured my nausea.

I returned to class and quietly took my seat again in front of the teacher who had taught us:

In America people shower every day.

I did not know why he said that, because my masters rarely bathed and they were in America. I did not realize that he was talking to and about me because he was not looking at me when he said it. "

Thanks for making me laugh; I needed that. If you can maintain that humor you'll make it through TEOTWAWKI. Maybe I'll meet you on the other side.

P.S. Dear "a mom," soon I'll have an address for you. They're working on it.

-- Not Again! (seenit@ww2.com), February 06, 1999.

Dear Sysman,

How do I mail anonymously via Yahoo!? I searched and found insult mailing, etc. Not me.

TTF

-- Not Again! (seenit@ww2.com), February 06, 1999.

On a more serious note, you might try melatonin for your insomnia. I've found that taking it in tea form, with mint and chamomile, works the best. And try a half-dose first if you try pills - they seem to make them too strong for most people (too much can make you sleepy the next day).

E.

-- E. Coli (nunayo@beeswax.com), February 06, 1999.

TTF is Jerzy Kosinski (The Painted Bird) on steroids.

-RCat

-- Runway Cat (Runway_Cat@hotmail.com), February 06, 1999.

Dear Not again, Go to www.yahoo.com (www.hotmail.com, there are other free e-mail sites), hit the Free E-mail link, and sing-up for a new account. All you need is a user name (mine is Ytwok Board), address (y2kboard), and password. Be original. It may take a few tries to get an unused address. This allows you to receive private info, like a real e-mail address, without posting it for everyone to see on the forum. This also works with YAHOO PAGER. The pager runs in background, and will notify me when mail arrives in my mailbox, when I'm doing other things on my 'puter. Since I'm using this address only on this fourm, this means someone has posted to one of my threads. One bummer though. As I learned just yesterday, YAHOO doesn't run a POP mail server, so I can't forward this address to my real address. I just have to remember to sign into this account also. Later <:)=

-- Sysman (y2kboard@yahoo.com), February 06, 1999.

PS - You must answer a few questions when you sign up. One is the notify (or contact?) me question. Answer DON'T and your inbox will be pretty spam free.

-- Sysman (y2kboard@yahoo.com), February 06, 1999.

Dear "a mom,"

you can email me here and I will return you the info that you want to know: boy_hero@yahoo.com

Thank you in advance.

Also thanks to Sysman.

TTF

-- Not Again! (seenit@ww2.com), February 06, 1999.