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The Flap About Naps

Time for another beisbol update, amigos. Mosey on over to Bugs & Cranks for the latest in Braves' analysis:

That Was Then, This Is... When? -- Will the 2007 Braves look more like the '05 division winners, or the stinkers of '06?

When you're done there, come on back for today's somnabulatory nonsense, below. Gracias!

It's been one of those weeks when the weekend can't arrive soon enough. This one was a whirlwind, with an illness, a couple of late nights, and a plumbing emergency leading to a new toilet.

(For the record, I'm not suggesting my illness was a 'plumbing emergency'. Though it may have led to a couple, at the fevered height of its run.

But under no circumstances did the illness lead to the new toilet. If I'm ever that sick, I think I'll just hang it up and climb in the coffin. If only to avoid cleaning up the mess.)

"I haven't taken two naps in the same week since I was sucking warm milk from a bottle and watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood."

Things got so hectic, in fact, that during the course of the week I took not one, but two naps. And I'm not a napper. I haven't taken two naps in the same week since I was sucking warm milk from a bottle and watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.

(And no, that's not how I spent my Sunday mornings in college. The rumors are untrue.

If you must know, it was strained peas and Sesame Street. I tended to regress a bit with Monday morning classes looming. The semester I had calculus, I spent most of my weekends in the fetal position, tucked in a laundry bag in a dark closet.)

It's not that I'm opposed to naps, in principle. I've always heard that the optimal sleep pattern is two-to-three hours, three or four times a day. Just like we're supposed to eat seven small meals a day, floss our teeth every hour, and have 'quickie' sex fourteen times a day, or until we can't walk any more.

(My wife didn't go for that, either. You can't blame a guy for trying.)

The catnapping scheme is great in theory. Do a little work, take a nap. Wake up refreshed, do some more work, take another nap. Have some dinner, take a nap. Watch TV, take a nap. Breakfast, nap. Lunch, nap. Brush your teeth, have a quickie, blow off calc class, take a nap. Sounds wonderful.

Sadly, it doesn't work that way for me in practice. I have a debilitating condition that renders naps a non-option under all but the most desperate circumstances. Perhaps it's a genetic defect, or the result of some forgotten childhood naptime trauma. Whatever the cause, the grim reality is this:

I'm a grumpy waker.

It doesn't matter how long I've been asleep, or what time I wake up. When my eyes open, I'm tired, noncooperative, and generally poopy-mooded. I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to see anyone, and I certainly don't want to hear from anyone. Mostly, I want to lie perfectly still and grumble under my breath to no one in particular. It doesn't help, especially, but at least I feel like the gods of sleep are getting an earful about their abuse. Short of smacking around the Sandman, that's the best I can do.

I'm not sure why I wake up woozy, but that's the way it's always worked. It's bad enough to go through that once a morning, and gradually wake up enough to face the world. A nap just starts the cycle over. I don't wake up rejuvenated; I wake up rejerkified, with a head full of fuzz and a mouth full of 'meh'. For an hour, I'm like a bitter addled old geezer with lots of irrational opinions and a healthy set of lungs.

(I eventually recover, of course. Then I go back to the lovable addled old irrational geezer you see now. Different, see?)

So I'll be glad when this week is over, and I can go home tonight to a nice warm bed and sleep for as long as I want. And then I can wake up, grumble through a shower, and face the world anew. And most importantly, put this nasty napping business aside for a while. That should improve the outlook around here, at the very least. Because you don't want to see me nap. You wouldn't like me when I nap.

Permalink | Comments (2)


6 cups of coffee and an hour later I'm fit to join the human race....I don't wake up bright and cheerful either.

I don't do naps either. I have the same condition. Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't breathe on me, just stay the hell away. When I'm ready, I'll come to you, ok? OK.

Unfortunately, I have temporary houseguests in my parents and my mother is Little Cindy Sunshine first thing in the morning. One of us may die soon. And it won't be me.

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