I have a NEW drug. It’s cheap and easily obtainable. I’m surprised, considering how easy it is to get, that I haven’t picked it up before. It’s decadent, simple to use, and nearly devoid of side effects.

My new drug is sleep — or, as it’s known on the street, shut-eye, 40 winks, nod, Z, flop, crash, nap, zonk, or dream time. I know it’s wrong, but it feels so good when I do it that I just don’t want to stop. I am its slave.

I first got hooked on sleep sometime late last fall, after a wild summer of working really hard, sailing and partying nearly every night of the week, and traveling on the weekends — all while attempting to keep up with personal hygiene, keeping my apartment in a state somewhere this side of disastrous, having a relationship with my family, and engaging in a flurry of side projects. My life was fueled by an unspoken belief that if I closed my eyes for just one minute, I was a slacker, wasting precious time in this short party called life. Sleep just wasn’t my bag. I didn’t run with a "sleep crowd." As a result, I never went near the stuff. Coffee — that was my drug of choice, and the drug of choice of everyone I knew. Except for Ellen.

Ellen always seemed so calm, refreshed, and full of energy. There were rumors that she was on Z, but I had too much respect for her to believe it. Then one day, Ellen noticed that I looked pretty beat up after another long week. She took me out for lunch.

"You know," she said over salads, "you should get some Zs." I pretended to be amused, but I was shocked that she would discuss sleep so brazenly in a public place.

"I don’t know, I hear that stuff can be pretty dangerous — like it only takes one time before you’re hooked," I replied.

"Don’t be ridiculous," she said under her breath. "I’ve been sleeping for years, and do I look like I’m having a problem?" Ellen had a point. She was successful and happy, and her skin glowed. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, then bent in close. "I get up to 10 hours a night," she whispered.

I couldn’t believe it. I never knew, or even suspected, that Ellen had such an addiction, and it didn’t appear to have affected her one bit. "It feels so damn good, I can’t even tell you. Sometimes, a good night’s sleep is better than sex," she said with a dreamy smile.

I had to admit that all the coffee I had to drink to stay awake was starting to take its toll. I was jittery after only one cup. I couldn’t hold a thought for longer than 30 seconds. I was getting an ulcer. I had coffee sweat stains in the armpits of all my white shirts. And eventually, even the strongest whitening toothpaste couldn’t control the brown stains on my teeth.

After I spoke with Ellen, I was intrigued. I mean, if someone like Ellen was doing it, seemingly without repercussions, then why couldn’t I? As long as I could keep it under control, what could be the harm in an innocent round of shut-eye now and again? So, one day, I decided to give it a try.

"Don’t do too much at first," Ellen counseled. "It can make you really groggy." So one early afternoon at the office, following another tough night, an early-morning staff meeting, and a big lunch, the time seemed right. I closed my office door, laid back in my chair, and shut my eyes. Just for a minute, I thought. I’ll just try it, and if it wigs me out too much, I won’t do it again.

A ringing phone woke me an hour later. I jumped up, briefly unaware of where I was. Then I realized I felt better than I had in days.

That was pretty much it. I started sleeping an hour here, an hour there. Now I’m up to eight or nine at a whack. During the first few weeks of my addiction, I felt like I could do anything. I relished the soft comfort of my pillow, the utter relaxation of letting go and falling into the infinite peace of shut-eye. My life seemed to be improving. I was cutting back on the partying and the coffee. I could think straight. I was on top of the world.

Then, as with most addictions, it started to exact a terrible price. First, my boyfriend began commenting that I wasn’t much fun after 10 p.m. — the hour when the lure of Z becomes almost too strong to resist. Then I started hitting the snooze button so many times that one morning it broke. Today, there is almost nothing and no one entertaining enough to keep my head off the pillow after 11 o’clock. And no one should ever see me when that alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. It’s a sight too pathetic to witness.

I’m in this thing bad. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop. No intervention, no reasoning, no pleading can put an end to it. It just feels so right.

So it’s too late for me to get this monkey off my back, but it’s not too late for me to stop others from making the same mistake. Kids, keep off the Z. One taste of it and you’re a sleepyhead before you can say "lights out." Stay busy — stay awake. Remember: life’s too short to spend it in bed.

When she’s not asleep, Kris Frieswick can be reached at k.frieswick@verizon.net