Four days and 96 hours into the experiment, I wake up with the shakes and shivers. Am I sick? Is it in my head? Is it the Provigil's fault? I take Advil, drink green tea, chug NyQuil, and sleep till noon. I just can't see munching Provigil today.

Later, I feel better. I have dinner plans with a friend. I want to feel focused and zippy, not like a cloudy, sick guy. I have an idea ... Provigil. The plan was to use it only to be a tiger at work, but it's a small leap to see it as pick-me-up party drug in lieu of a disco nap. Here we go. I'm up up up and away. I drink, but sloooowly, as if I just can't get to the bottom of my glass of red wine. The outer world moves at a happy, mellow speed, but my heart begins to race. The wine kicks the drug in a bit more, like a trainer providing a push that helps you bench-press that extra 25 pounds. I like that feeling. Provigil is giving me a catchy beat. I'm back, baby, I'm back!

That night, I fall asleep easily. When I wake up five hours later at 5:35 a.m., I pop a controlled substance called Temazepan that doctors give to people who laugh at Ambien (and my insurance company was kind enough to cover). For a split second it occurs to me that perhaps I shouldn't be mixing so many medicines, but the urge to see (at the very least) a "9" on my alarm clock bests the fear. I stay down till a whopping 10 a.m. Even though I am running way late for work, I feel ggggreat!

I celebrate with two cups of coffee and a mango banana protein smoothie for breakfast. I eat broccoli rabe and fennel and sausage pasta for lunch. I'm fattening myself up for the kill. Provigil for an afternoon snack? Bring. It. On.

And so I do. Which brings on downside No. 2: More than halfway though my adventures with Provigil, I'm beginning to notice some unpleasant adventures with my digestive system. Now, I reckon, would be a good time to look into the possible side effects of a pill I've put into my body for four days. Turning to Cephalon's handy FAQ, I discover that I may experience headache, nausea, nervousness, stuffy nose, diarrhea, back pain, anxiety, trouble sleeping, dizziness and upset stomach. True, I've got a knot the size of a grapefruit in my back, but more pressingly, I really have to go to the bathroom.

The Physicians' Desk Reference reports that in clinical trials in the United States, 5 percent of some 369 patients who received Provigil discontinued its use because of a bad experience, the most frequently given reasons being headaches, nausea, depression and nervousness. Five percent is not an insignificant number, as I'm slowly learning.

I decide to check in with my favorite online repository of drug information, the Vaults of Erowid, which offers information on illegal and legal drugs, as well as the Experience Vaults, which are like the Amazon.com customer reviews of drugs, but much more entertaining. Provigil customers are largely satisfied, especially when they compare it to other common stimulants. "I was just alert, with no unwelcome desire to go curl up and snooze unless I wanted to -- and I could if I wanted to," wrote Benjy. "With speed, the reinforcing event is the horrible eternity when sleep's no option but the sparkle is gone -- that's what makes people blow another line at 4 AM. Provigil isn't like that; it doesn't make me think I'm Jean Fucking Baudrillard, and it doesn't make another hit seem quite so compelling. All it does is make me alert, anytime I want. Like coffee without the corpse breath."

Many others users write of similarly positive results, so I am wondering if my increasingly negative reaction to Provigil is about my own physical and mental constitution or just bad karma for using a drug in a way it's not supposed to be used. It's nice to cut down on corpse breath, but I am really grinding my teeth. I am too hyper, too often, madly jumping from one project to another, making lists with even more zeal than normal. During a staff meeting in which I know I am going to be grilled on topics I am extremely familiar with, I feel like I am going to have a heart attack. Or at least a panic attack. Are my fingers tingling or shaking or not actually moving at all? I'm going a little crazy.

But I vow to keep taking it. If some 95 percent of its users dig it, then dammit, I will too. There's a saying in my office that I don't think anyone understands but everyone sort of likes: Go with your weakness.

The next day I take it earlier in the day than usual. Almost instantly, I want to start pulling at my hair. At the office, I zig and zag among my co-workers, though I can't tell if I appear alive and charming, or nervous and annoying. I know for sure that I look pasty. I also know I haven't touched the big story I wake up each morning vowing to conquer.

And then there's this strange feeling: I can, for the first time, understand how people who are heavily medicated feel crazy and out of control and even suicidal.

I'm not going to kill myself, but somehow this drug in my body makes that all seem less scary, less completely and totally out of the question. I don't know exactly how (nor, apparently, do the makers of the drug), but my brain chemistry has been altered, and I don't like where it's headed. I've had enough.

When I wake up the next day after a fitful night's sleep I say, without a smirk for possibly the first time ever, thank God it's Friday, the fifth and final day of my test drive. I take my final Provigil with ruby red orange juice at 2:38 p.m. My insides instantly fill with butterflies. At 2:46 my hands feel more tingly than twitchy, not so bad at all. The rush feels like an eight-year-old's first downhill slide on the log flume ride at an amusement park -- fast, cold and just a little scary. Am I going to miss it? Maybe. But this shit isn't good for me. And even if it is, I can't afford it. I vow to get more exercise, drink less coffee, and meet a woman named Ula.

That night I remove my computer from my room, tuck myself into bed with a cup of decaf green tea, a good book, and no impending panic of another day on a drug that I've loved to hate. To my right is a beside light -- damn that Edison. I read a few pages, then flip the switch and doze off into the unknown.

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