The Art of Napping

To nap in the afternoon, preferably on a couch with a decorative pillow under my head, is my definition of luxurious perfection.  The inimitable feeling of heavy eyelids succumbing to slumber is pure  heaven.  I court drowsiness, cajoling it into my day by lounging with a book, script or magazine, the secret portal.  I have no desire to chase it away with caffeine.  I often awake from a nap not knowing where I am, groggy as if drugged.  Thirty minutes could have passed or two hours.  Part of me is in another dimension as I walk into the kitchen to check the clock.  Fragments of feelings and conversations from I depth I no longer fully access remain as I try to gain full consciousness.   I like being caught between these two worlds. This is high on the list of things I will miss when I return to work.  I will still create space for naps, build them into my schedule on the weekends, but the daily indulgence will undoubtedly come to an end.