I've been taking half a tab of Vicodin every night. You know, I've had insomnia to some degree or another practically all my life and no medication has made a dent, but this stuff works. I weaned myself off Primidone and the tremors haven't returned, and I don't wake up in the middle of the night very much. I also get long, vivid dreams (last night I dreamed that I was walking along a road, and all of a sudden my old horse Flicka found me and went berserk until I paid attention to her. She'd been surrendered to a rescue organization, had her name changed, her papers lost; but it was her, and oddly she looked as she did when I first got her as a 9-year-old. Just like Paul McCartney, she'd be 28 if she's alive.) It's like the Vicodin evens me out and fixes everything, oddly; I don't know if it's supposed to do all that, but it does, and H allayed my concerns that I would become a junkie whore just because I take a half tab every night. Too much DARE education growing up has convinced me that a steep descent into drug-induced madness is sure to be my fate, but then H has a more reasonable perspective than DARE any day so I believe her.