It’s officially three days past my bedtime.

Last night, around 2 a.m., I turned on the TV and watched an entire episode of The Flying Nun. Not even Sister Bertrille could help me.

It’s officially three days past my bedtime.

Last night, around 2 a.m., I turned on the TV and watched an entire episode of The Flying Nun. Not even Sister Bertrille could help me. So, now I look like hell, and I’m crotchety, too — consider yourself warned.

Chores are piling up along with a Mariana Trench of deep resentment of the well-rested. Yes, I’m on another one of my no-sleeping jags. They correlate to nothing. Stress, physical exertion, existential angst, tariff terror — these things are incidental when I’m in a good sleeping phase. I can nod off in the world’s highest-traffic airport, but frequently remain beady-eyed in my own comfy bed at three in the morning.

I was never a reliable sleeper. I remember tossing and turning, examining the social dilemmas of high school. Occasional sleeplessness, however, became Olympic-level insomnia when babies arrived. I knew that, were I lucky enough to enter the prized restorative phase of deep sleep, I’d hear the creaking of the crib, and soon, its prisoner wailing for attention.

There are so many sleep-aid potions and concoctions on offer. I’ve tried them all, from old-timey remedies to the stuff that is only dispensed via triplicate forms and an armed guard. Of the OTC varieties, my favourite was a Canadian-made product that — alas — was removed from shelves due to an ingredient that tripped over into the territory of prescription medication. Lots of people swear by melatonin, a natural supplement that is supposed to promote restorative sleep. A hormone produced by the pineal gland, melatonin is supposed to help regulate your circadian rhythm. As it’s purported to detect light and dark through the retina, it is sometimes referred to as the “hormone of darkness”. I call it meh-latonin as I can’t say that I’ve had great success with it.

My policy is to resist taking anything beyond Ovaltine to take the edge off. Very rarely, I’ll pour myself a finger of single-malt scotch in the hope it will knock me out. But when all else has failed, I’ll bring out the really big guns. I’ll uncap a bottle of the little blue pills that promise swift deliverance into the arms of Morpheus — zopiclone. I’ll only take half of one, though. There is a little indentation across the middle of these pills and I’ll bite into that, instantly regretting the decision as the dandelion taste persists for hours. My chronic mistake with this pharmaceutical-grade sleep aid is that I never look at the clock when taking the pill. I’ve usually stormed into the bathroom after hours of Sister Bertrille nonsense or reading an Economist magazine that predates Trump’s New World Order — so, useless — and then bite down on the pill, wash it down, and, with a vengeance, head back to bed … only to realize it’s almost 4 a.m.

Now, zopiclone is tricky. It’s also sold under the name Imovane, but they’re both non-benzodiazepine hypnotics. They work by affecting a calming brain chemical called GABA — gamma-aminobutyric acid. The effect of a single zopiclone pill can be quite far-reaching. Studies have shown that even therapeutic doses of zopiclone may impair driving performance “similar to or even greater than the effects of alcohol.” In my case, popping a zopiclone at 3:30 a.m. could have real consequences. In pooled analysis shown on the U.S. National Library of Medicine’s website, zopiclone was shown to have “significant and clinically relevant performance-impairing effects on driving in the morning until 11 hours after bedtime ingestion.”

A single 7.5 zopiclone pill can register an effect similar to a blood-alcohol level between 0.5 and 0.8 mg/mL. That level of impairment is associated with an up to three-fold increase in the risk of becoming involved in a traffic accident.

So, there you have it: Something new to fret about on those sleepless nights.

Jane Macdougall is a freelance writer and former National Post columnist who lives in Vancouver. She writes The Bookless Club every Saturday online and in The Vancouver Sun. For more of what Jane’s up to, check out her website, janemacdougall.com

This week’s question for readers:

Question: How do you deal with sleeplessness?

Send your answers by email text, not an attachment, in 100 words or less, along with your full name to Jane at thebooklessclub@gmail.com. We will print some next week in this space.

Last week’s question for readers:

Question: What is your horticultural specialty?

• I reluctantly admit that my