Weirdly, one of the things I remember most clearly about the first season of Felicity–do you remember that show?–was that the characters would sometimes cuddle up in the middle of the day and nap together, all snuggly and warm, and that comes close to my definition of heaven. When E and I were long-distance, we’d spend the first part of our visits very busy and cramming everything we missed into a few days, but the last day, we’d spend napping together in bed. Books, pillows, my face in the crook of his shoulder, the day going slowly but entirely too quickly. The day going perfectly.
When I was working at home, my boyfriend used to tease me that I worked an hour, maybe an hour and a half, and then I spent the rest of the day napping. This is not a true statement–I never napped during the day. Maybe I napped once or twice. Sure, there were times when I would get home from a trip and spend the entire next day in bed, or I’d eat a heavy lunch (or something not-so-good for me) and then I’d find myself sacking out for an hour or two (carbs always knock me or a loop). But I did not make a regular habit of napping, as much as I would have liked to.
My life is no longer arranged in such a way that a nap is at all
feasible–there is too much to do, and too little time in which to do it. I
love naps. I think a life without naps is a life that is missing a
little something–a few hours of nothing but the purest luxury. What is
more luxurious than being able to set aside your obligations and your
worry and your to-do lists and closing your eyes and letting it all
just go away, for awhile? It’s good for your mind, for your body, for
your happiness and sanity. Why isn’t there some kind of Federal nap
holiday? That is the platform on which I will run.