[ WP ] You managed to piss off every major world country while sleepwalking last night .

FDR had polio. Grover Cleveland suffered from gout and nephritis. William Howard Taft was over 300 pounds. I guess it should n't be a surprise that most presidents were n't pictures of good health... so I really, truly believed that my somnambulism was n't going to interfere with my work in the Oval Office. 
 
 I was terribly, terribly wrong. 
 
 I never remember when I begin to sleepwalk. My memory begins when I wake up out of bed - in the kitchen, in a hallway in the West Wing, in the bathroom with one sock off and the shower blasting hot water. I'm always confused for a moment about my location, but then I recognize the house I'm in ( White, to be exact ), and I begin the long trudge back to my bedchamber. 
 
 It began innocently enough. It was my first week as President, and I was just getting used to the rigors of the post. The pundits were n't exaggerating when they called it the most difficult job in the world. I was up late nights, every night, on routine, whether I was on the phone with Netenyahu or being given a briefing from my Secretary of State. I guess the stress was getting to me. I went to bed at two o'clock that Friday night, and woke up at four with my hand around the bedpost and a ringing in my ears. Disoriented, I went back to bed. The next morning, I did n't report it to any of my staff. I felt I had to maintain a facade of strength and resilience while on the job - if people could n't depend on the health of their highest elected official, then what could they depend on? Bad health showed up bad in the polls. Or so I'm told. 
 
 It started really escalating after two months. I began to wake up multiple times a night, each time more disoriented than the last. Dark circles appeared under my eyes as I broached a landmark peace agreement between the Israelis and the Palestinians at Camp David. The next night ( my 72nd as President ) was the first night I strayed outside my room. I stayed awake the rest of the night, my eyes wide open, scared of what was coming. 
 
 After that episode, my nighttime wanderings knew no bounds. Each night, I found myself further and further from where I had started. Seven months after my inauguration, I found myself crawling around in my pajamas on the White House lawn. It was a long walk back inside. I set off the security alarm when opening the door. Played it off as a midnight stroll. Casual. 
 
 Although by that time, practically every room in the White House had been unconsciously explored by yours truly, it was a full year in before I first found myself in the Oval Office. My papers ( highly confidential ) were scattered just as I remembered from earlier in the evening. I looked at the clock. Its ticking creeped me out - time slipping away, second by second. There were only 3 years left in this term. It was five thirty. I sighed, then seated myself behind the desk. Might as well start work now, I thought. 
 
 As I was working, though, something caught my eye. It was the button, underneath the desk. The big, scary, red one. I had been briefed about this on my very first day: this was the button that launched the nuclear weapons against the Soviets. The engineer responsible for the button had warned me never, ever, to press it. Now, it seemed to glare at me like a glowing red eye. I shuddered, then went back to work. 
 
 It seemed like my unconscious mind had become fixated on something. Every night now, I found myself in the Oval Office, with the ancient clock ticking on the wall behind me. My term was going surprisingly well - usually, approval ratings suffer a steep drop off after the inauguration, but the citizens of this fair country seemed to admire me more every passing day. I made breakthrough deals arms-reduction deals with the USSR. My team sponsored a comprehensive healthcare reform plan that even the Republicans could get behind. Everyone, in short, was happy - except me. I was scared, scared out of my wits. Because every night, I noticed, I was getting closer to my desk. Going behind it, in fact. Closer to the big, scary, red button that I was never, ever supposed to press. 
 
 When I was at work behind the desk, now, the button was always present at the back of my mind. It glared at me from underneath the chair, the red metal encased behind Plexiglas beckoning to me with a devilish stare. I always shook it off, got back to work, signed more papers, vetoed more bills. But in my nocturnal travels, I now woke up with my hand reaching out, grasping, almost begging me to lift the cover and slam the button down. My arm would n't stop shaking for minutes afterwards. While I calmed down, the clock ticked a bit slower, as if to prolong the pain. It still glowered down at me from the desk, while the button joined in, making my work all the more difficult. 
 
 Here it is. October 24th. The 654th day of my presidency. But really, who's counting? 
 
 This day was particularly stress-inducing. The Soviets were misbehaving at the negotiation table, the stock market took a minor hit... I ended up working until three in the morning that night. My Chief of Staff came up to me, telling me I was n't looking so good, that I probably needed some rest. I looked up from my work, agreed reluctantly, and plodded back to my bedroom. 
 
 Once in bed, I had the strangest feeling; a fleeting notion that something was going to happen tonight. I shrugged it off. Closed my eyes. 
 
 And woke up to the sound of a blaring alarm. I jolted up, started sprinting towards the Oval Office - only to realize, to my chagrin, that I was already there. The clock had stopped ticking. Strange, I thought. 
 
 Only then did I have the presence of mind to look down at my arm. It was still there - shaking, trembling, white as pitch. And, as the alarm blared around me, I noticed that the Plexiglas cover of the big red button was askew. 
 
 Five of the twelve members of the Cabinet burst in, flanked by the White House janitors and my Chief of Staff. He ( still in his nightgown ) stepped forward, took one look at me, and said, `` John, the rest of the world is pretty pissed. You just kickstarted a nuclear winter. We've got five or so minutes to live.''
