I took a nap this weekend. I know this probably doesn’t seem earth-shattering to most people, especially people like my sister, who considers sleeping a competitive sport, and people like my husband, who would happily challenge said sister in that sport. I, on the other hand, am a little too type A for all that. I’ve taken approximately three naps in my entire adult life, not counting those that happen during an illness. I see non-sick naps as a waste of time that could otherwise be spent doing wildly productive things like yard work or shopping or watching marathons of Keeping Up With the Kardashians (yes, that’s right, learning that the walking stick is Scott Disick’s newest fall fashion accessory has become an acceptable way to spend a Sunday afternoon).
What I do with my waking time isn’t the point – no matter how lame I am when I’m awake, whenever I try to take a nap I just lay there and think about all the other things I could – nay, should – be doing with my time. I also never actually think that I’m going to fall asleep, so I never bother to set my alarm clock, and I’m sure you can imagine how that turns out. A 20-minute cat nap turns into a 3-hour dead man’s sleep, and before I know it I’m being woken up mid-REM by the sound of my phone is ringing and I lunge to answer it with no idea of who I am, how I got there, and why someone’s calling me on the phone. Hello? Don’t you know that it’s 4 in the morning and I’m on a business trip to Milwaukee? Oh wait, it’s 2 in the afternoon and I’m at home? God, what am I doing with my life? I should be doing yardwork or shopping or watching E! News Network!
The nap this weekend wasn’t very different from what I described above, except that my husband woke me up an hour and a half in, and then kindly laughed on the inside while I shuffled around the house, asking what my name was and what year we were in, not unlike a female Ozzy Osbourne. Once I had a cup of coffee and remembered my name I felt slightly refreshed, so I’m choosing to ignore the fact that I need a nap babysitter and count the whole experience as a success. If you hear someone screaming Shaaa-RON this Saturday around 3, you’ll know who it is.