What is the best over the counter sleeping aid medicine? I’m having sleep disorder maybe due to stress…

ALSO – any over the counter aids for ANXIETY?
DEPENDENCY risks??
Okay, thanks, I’m actually not really that interested in using medication. I like the all natural approach.

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Gustad entered hesitantly and looked towards Dinshawji’s bed. The figure of the woman he expected to see, seated in vigil, was missing. He gazed absently upon the rows of sleeping patients, heard their breathing and snores. And if I did not know Dinshawji is gone, he would also have the sleeping look. Strange feeling. To stand beside his bed, and he cannot see me. Unfair advantage. As though I am spying on him. But who knows? Maybe Dinshu is the one with the advantage, spying from Up There. Laughing at me. The straight hard chair was by the bed. He had grown so used to it over the weeks. Dinshawji’s sheet rose in a sharp incline at the nether regions of the mattress. He glanced under the bed to see if the size twelve Naughty Boys were there by his trunk. Only the bedpan, its white enamel stark in the dark space. Beside it, the transparent flask-shaped urinal. Not all patients were asleep. Some watched intently, keeping an eye on this healthy one visiting after hours, when he had no business to be here. In the dim night-light of the ward their eyes focussed fearfully, drifted, then refocussed. When would it be their turn? How would it happen? And afterwards…? Down an old man’s face, tears were rolling slowly. Silently, on to the pillowcase dull white like his hair. Others were peaceful, reassured, as if they knew now that it was the simplest of things, was dying. After all, the one who had joked and laughed in their midst for several weeks had shown them how easy it was. How easy to go from warm and breathing to cold and waxen, how easy to become one of the smooth white figures in the carts outside the gates of Mount Mary. Dinshawji had been stripped of all the appurtenances with which he had clung to life. The metal stand, gaunt and coldly institutional when the saline solution bottle used to hang from it, now stood empty. Now it looked just like a wire coat-rack, harmless and domestic. The various tubes had grown in number with the passing weeks: one through the nose, two in the arms, somewhere under the sheet a catheter. All withdrawn. As if he had never been sick. Were the tubes removed carefully, the way they were inserted: skilfully, by steady hands? Or just yanked out—the useless wires of an old broken radio, like my Telerad. And then the tubes thrown away in the rubbish, like the coils and transformers and condensers littering the pavements outside the repair shops. Dinshawji dismantled. And after the prayers are said and the rituals performed at the Tower of Silence, the vultures will do the rest. When the bones are picked clean, and the clean bones gone, no proof will remain that Dinshawji ever lived and breathed. Except his memory. But after that? After the memory is lost? When I am gone, and all his friends are gone. What then? The eyes of the wakeful patients were still on Gustad. He found it disconcerting if their eyes met. So he kept looking at Dinshawji’s surgical bed. The iron frame, painted creamy white. Black in places where the paint had peeled. Three sockets for the wooden-handled crank. The first raises the head—I used to wind it when Dinshawji’s dinner arrived. Crankshafts and gears, just like my Meccano set. Second socket for the feet (I raised them once by mistake). And the third for the mid-section. Strange. Why should stomach or pelvis be higher than the rest of the body? Only one reason I can think of. And not a medical reason. Unless the interns and nurses use it for playing doctor-doctor. Wish I had thought of that earlier. To tell Dinshu. But he would have come up with a better one himself. His hospital song. O give me a home where the nurses’ hands roam… ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,’ he whispered in Dinshawji’s ear, and smiled.
3 days ago – 14 hours left to answer.

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all help is greatly appreciated,
please source your information

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“Alright! I’m up!” I shout as I jump out of bed and grab the stupid device that woke me from my dreams of sunny beaches. I flip it open and read the name of one of my best friends, Jessica. Best friend my ass, I think as I hit ‘talk’.

“What do you want?” I ask, not bothering to hide the annoyed tone in my voice.

“Happy Birthday!” Two voices shriek in my ear. They’re both there. Kayla and Jessica, the two most important people in my life. I can’t stay mad at them, or annoyed, whichever you prefer, so I allow the smile to creep on my face.

“Thanks guys.”

“So? What do you want to do today?”

“Oh, well, I hadn’t really planned anything…you sort of caught me sleeping, as usual.”

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end, “Okay, well, Kayla and I are coming to pick you up in about…an hour. So, be ready, because we’ll take you half dressed if that’s the condition your in when we get there. Okay? Alright, love you! Bye!” I closed the phone quietly and tip-toed to my door. Slowly opening it, I poked my head out, praying a silent prayer that dad was out, even if the only ‘out’ for him was the bar. I couldn’t hear his loud snores, or any other noise in the house, so I grabbed my robe and sprinted to the blue bathroom down the hall.

“Seventeen,” I whispered to the reflection in the mirror. I watch as the too-blue eyes stare back at me, like a stranger. I pull the rubber band out of my hair and let my chocolate brown hair fall down to the middle of my back, wincing as I remember how thick and crazy it gets. Touching my sharp cheekbones, I notice how much my porcelain skin stands out against the dark blue background, causing my full lips to press into a tight line. I shake my head and undress, slowly stepping into the boiling water spitting down from the shower head.

Goosebumps rise on my arms and I make the shower a bit speedy, remembering my time is more limited than usual. After rinsing the last of the soap and shampoo from my body, I shut the water off and grab a towel, wrapping it tightly around my arms before the heat is able to completely escape my body. Darting to my room, I scramble around in the wooden drawers of my dresser grabbing clothes and throwing them on. Back in the bathroom, I rip a comb through my hair, wincing as I feel the rare strands being pulled from my scalp. I glance at the clock as I brush my teeth and see that I only have 20 minutes left, I spit, rinse, and grab the hair dryer. I spend my remaining time drying my hair and wince when I see the finished masterpiece that is my appearance. Hair in its naturally loose curls, black tank top and red shorts reaching my mid-thigh. It would have to do, because the doorbell was ringing impatiently.

Grabbing my purse- which had a grand total of in it- and slipping on a green pair of flip flops, I opened the door, excited the be with the girls.

Jessica’s jaw dropped and Kayla’s eyebrows flew up as she let out a low whistle. I could feel my cheeks slightly turning pink.

“What? Why are you guys doing that?!”

Kayla giggled, “Calm down, Noelle. We just didn’t know you had such hot legs.” I punched her arm.

“Shut up”
Thanks guys!
I’m only 14, and this is my first major story.
;D

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Yahoo! Health: Children’s Health News

FRIDAY, Aug. 17 (HealthDay News) — Sleep experts are reminding parents that establishing regular sleep habits should be included on children’s back-to-school lists.

Children should gradually start adjusting their sleep schedules about two weeks prior to the start of the new school year, according to the National Sleep Foundation. Children need adequate sleep in order to be alert and energized and able to perform their best at school.

"Kids tend to sleep and wake up later during the summer, making the transition to the school-year sleep schedule difficult. As tempting as it is to enjoy sleeping late in the final days of summer break, getting up earlier for school will be much easier if kids begin adjusting their sleep schedules now," Richard Gelula, CEO of the NSF, said in a prepared statement.

The NSF offers the following sleep tips for the start of the school and the rest of the school year:

Beginning two weeks to 10 days before the start of school, gradually adjust children to earlier sleep and wake times in order to set their biological clocks for the new schedule.
Keep a regular sleep schedule on weekdays and avoid extreme changes in the routine on weekends.
Establish a relaxing bedtime routine, such as reading before bed.
Do not have televisions, computers, video games or other electronics in the bedroom. Don’t let children watch television or use electronic devices during the half hour before bedtime.
Limit caffeine intake, especially after lunch.
Make sure children eat well and exercise
The NSF also offered sleep advice for parents:

Set a good example. By adopting good sleep habits, your children are less likely to develop bad sleep habits.
Talk to children about the importance of healthy sleep and the consequences of sleepiness, such as drowsy driving.
Parents need to understand that children, including teens, need more sleep than adults.
Children who have trouble waking in the morning on more than three days a week, or who snore, may not be getting enough sleep. They may need to be evaluated by a specialist.
Ask teachers whether your child is alert or sleepy during class. If there appears to be a problem, take steps to improve your child’s sleep.

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I DON’T DRINK NO MORE

By WILLY 11/24/04 9:30 p.m. G-Harp, Key of D, Slow Shuffle

I started drinking as a child
Uncles gin and Camels was my style
I slept it off then; was too young to go wild!

I drank to get incoherent
The older I got wilder I went
I’d go to a bar with money leave without a cent!
(Spoken: And wonder who left the dents? In my car, head, etc.?)

(Chorus)
To me I’ll just have one drink today
Is like sayin, I’ll only stick it in half way!
When I start drinkin ain’t no way to stop
Which is how I got to know a few cops!

I got tired of being on the outside of open doors
And being wounded though I never been to war
All of this and more is why I don’t drink no more!

I now know that I can’t take even one sip
Some say you can’t teach a dog new tricks
I’ll bet ya the dog never woke up with a fat lip!
(Spoken: And not able to remember who or why it’s there!)

(Chorus)
To me I’ll just have one drink today
Is like sayin, I’ll only stick it in half way!
When I start drinkin ain’t no way to stop
Which is how I got to know a few cops!

At a bar I’d tell the tender; shut up and pour
I need a drink to relax just makes me snore
I drank to get drunk; but I don’t drink no more!!!…

@2004 Willy Senkiwsky

"The Blues are the roots, and the other music is the fruits." One of Willie Dixon’s favorite sayings, from I Am the Blues by Willie Dixon with Don Snowden (DaCapo, 1989)

"Life is like music, it must be composed by ear, feeling and instinct, not by rule. Nevertheless one had better know the rules, for they sometimes guide in doubtful cases, though not often." –Samuel Butler (1612-80), English poet, Author’

"Simple music is the hardest music to play and blues is simple music." –Albert Collins

Willys cynical thought for the day;

Everybody keeps saying that women are smarter than men, but did you ever see
a man wearing a shirt that buttons down the freaking back?

You Know You’re a Drunkard When;

If a party runs out of booze, you sock the host and drink his nosebleed.

Your wife asks you to pick up a canned ham, and you show up with a case of Hamm’s in cans.

Interventions have become so frequent that you just leave the folding chairs set up in your living room.

The arresting officer tells you that you have the right to remain silent and you waive that right so you can finish singing Enter Sandman.

You know how to say "Where are my pants?" in seven languages.

You have a lot of respect for that 80-year-old guy at the end of the bar, but you know from experience that he’s a dirty fighter.

You go on week-long benders just so you’ll have a cool story to tell at your AA meetings.

You got in a fist fight with a wino over how long a bottle of Thunderbird should be allowed to "breathe".

You’re willing to go on the wagon, so long as it’s heading for a bar.

You got pissed off when you forgot whatever you were drinking to forget.

You have so much alcohol in your system that your cabbie has to be HazMat certified.

If a wino jumped off a building, you’d bravely leap forward to break the fall of his bottle.

You install shag carpet because it’s easier to hang on to.

Embalming fluid would be an improvement.

Your last Breathalyzer reading was "No Fucking Way."

Distilleries fight over the billboard nearest to your place of residence.

The state has installed a Breathalyzer interlock device on your shoes.

You drew up a living will that states very clearly that you do not want the booze tube removed under any circumstances.

Your friends often substitute "Good night" with "Hey, you can’t sleep here."

When you donate blood they store it in oak barrels.

You openly commit crimes just to learn new pruno recipes.

Your name is police code for Public Intoxication.

You’re fairly sure a letter to Dear Abby signed "Want to Leave the Bum, But Can’t" was written by your liver.

Your favorite drinking game is Do a Shot Every Time You Do a Shot.

Your idea of a seven-course meal is a six-pack and a pizza.

TV beer ads have started addressing you by name.

Someone offers you palm wine and you think they’re out of glassware.

You brush your teeth with bourbon. It hasn’t helped cut down on cavities, but who cares?

When a panhandler asks, "Can you give me a quarter for some beer?" you reply, "Okay, but I want to taste it first."

You know heavy drinking makes you smarter because you can never remember doing anything stupid while blacked out.

You have a split personality-every time you meet someone with booze you want to split it with them.

You were so drunk at the office Xmas party that you kissed your own wife.

You’ve never been to Afghanistan or Pakistan, but you’re a frequent visitor to Imtoodrunktostan.

You become sexually aroused by the tapping of a keg.

You know you can use Jagermeister as cough syrup. And visa versa.

Your 86s are passed down to your grandchildren.

You have a sweet tooth for alcohol-in fact, your whole mouth likes it.

You spill so much booze at home your dog slurs his barks.

Your credit history is composed entirely of bar tabs.

When you get a cold you get a bottle of whiskey, do shots, and it’s gone – not the cold, the whiskey.

You’re always shaking hands, even when there’s no one else around.

Whenever you bend your elbow your mouth snaps open.

When your boss asks you to work overtime you demand time and a fifth.

You get held up almost every time you go home – in fact it’s the only way you can get home.

You’d be happy to go on the wagon if you could find one with a bar.

Your favorite bar is four blocks away – six blocks coming back.

When you order a hound for the rouse.

The Red Cross uses your blood to sterilize their instruments.

You’re half scotch, and your ancestors aren’t from Scotland.

You know how to handle your liquor – with both hands.

You hate the very sight of liquor, which is why you hide it in your stomach.

You can tell what bar you’re in by the bottoms of their tables.

A liter of scotch isn’t enough to invite a friend over for a drink.

Your first science fair project was a still.

You know most of the people in a bar and can’t remember one of their names.

Anyone who kisses you must legally wait half an hour to drive.

They have to mix your blood with tonic water before giving it to anyone.

You’ve filed assault charges against a coffee table.

When you’re out in the street, you are literally "out" in the street.

You think of drinking beer as "sobering up,"

You can say "Whiskey, please" in 34 languages, but can’t understand "Last call" in English.

Your liver takes sides against you during an intervention.

You know better than going near an open flame while you’re bleeding.

Your bed looks a helluva lot like a park bench, and your bedroom looks a helluva lot like a park.

You need a blood transfusion to legally enter a dry county.

Your flask is spring-loaded.

You judge cologne by its bouquet and finish.

Your liver is in the Federal Witness Protection Program.

You enjoy cooking with wine, and sometimes you even put it in the food.

You’ve only been drunk once in your life, and so far it’s lasted twenty-three years.

You liver has a restraining order on you.

You can tell the difference between a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Jim by the sound they make hitting the back of your head.

Alcoholism doesn’t run in your family-it takes its own sweet time.

You’ve been cut off during communion.

You wonder why they call it Southern Comfort when they know damn well there is nothing comfortable about being handcuffed in the back of a squad car.

Growing-up means buying better booze, getting older means getting used to the cheap stuff again.

You miss the old days when you were younger than the cop that finds you sleeping in a dumpster.

You were excited about the Olsen twins turning "legal" until you realized they still aren’t old enough to buy you a drink.

You resent it when people call you a raving alcoholic, because you’ve never been to a rave in your life.

You keep a bottle of liquor next to your bed so you can have breakfast in bed when you wake up.

You consider anything less than 80 proof a chaser.

You’ve eaten 87 packets of honey mustard because on the label it lists "white wine" as an ingredient.

You have convinced yourself that you’re not drinking alone so long as your friends Jack, Jim and Johnnie are over.

Your wardrobe is divided into Summer, Winter and Things You Woke Up Wearing. The third category includes a number of thongs.

Your BAC is measured in proof.

You measure time by drinks, as in: "Hold on a shot, the movie doesn’t start for another four bourbons."

To you "Last call!" sounds just like "Please don’t leave! We love you and you’re charming wit!"

You don’t use cologne or aftershave because you have a moral objection to alcohol going anywhere but down your throat.

You’d exercise more but when you sweat it smells like booze and that makes you thirsty.

You always finish your drinks because there are sober people in China.

When you come home to find your house burglarized the first thing you check is your liquor cabinet.

You’ll join A.A. when they start serving cocktails at the meetings.

Your ATM is a Dumpster full of recyclable cans.

You’ll sleep through a train wreck, yet spring awake to the sound of a bottle top turning.

You can order a beer in 17 different languages but don’t know how to pronounce "Perrier."

When a cop asks, "Have we been drinking?" you reply, "Do you really think I’d drink with the likes of you?"

You freak out when you wake up in your own bed.

You’d have passed the sobriety test if you hadn’t mistaken the Breathalyzer for a bugle.

Your waking thought is, "Wow, look at all the gum stuck to the bottom of the table."

You got in trouble at work because your standard greeting is, "Hey, let’s do a shot!"

You cursed the St. Bernard who rescued you because he had the nerve to bring only one lousy liter of brandy.

You can hear someone whisper "free beer" from three blocks away.

You consider a bottle of cheap whiskey and two shot glasses a very romantic gift.

You hate it when men give you flowers because, hey-you can’t drink flowers.

You dream of the beautiful day when all races, religions, creeds and colors finally get it together and pitch in to buy you a case of decent scotch.

You show up to brewery tours wearing fins and a snorkel.

You tell your friends your dog’s name is "Time for a Beer Run" but you call him "Hurry Up."

The tooth fairy left you shots of Rumpleminze.

You’ve convinced yourself your liver isn’t distended-it’s pregnant. With a new liver.

You play the same song 20 times in a row at top volume at three in the morning and are certain the neighbors don’t mind because, you know, it’s such a kick-ass song.

You think the porcelain hat looks good on you.

Your idea of karaoke is falling off the stage while yelling "Rock and roll!" into the microphone.

Your house is four times farther from the bar on the way back.

Your alarm clock is synchronized with the nearest liquor store’s opening time.

You have threatened to murder and marry the same person in the span of a single happy hour.

You are the answer to the question, "What kind of idiot pukes in a bidet?"

While in the drunk tank your friends tried to sneak you a fifth of Beam in a cake.

You’re personal trainer is a bartender.

You’ve known Jack Daniels so long you refer to him as John.

You watch Behind the Music and think "That’s really not that much alcohol."

The bartender is in the weeds and you’re the only person in the bar.

You refuse to play Golden Tee because there is no beer cart girl.

Think box wine is great; eagerly awaiting box whiskey.

You get cut off in absentia.

You won’t rent an apartment that doesn’t have a bar and liquor store within two blocks.

You’re favorite cocktail is one quarter vodka, one quarter vodka, one half vodka and topped up with vodka.

You get angry when guys who can’t hold their liquor keep stepping on your fingers.

You get nervous when there are only three bottles of liquor left in your house.

You forget how pants work.

http://www.total-knowledge.com/~willyblues/

From; WILLYS JOKES 1/22/06 You Know You’re a Drunkard When;
The question, for the idiots wondering, is how to get into a chicks panties!

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