I can’t quite recall when I started taking Sunday naps. It was a long time ago. It has become something of a ritual. Only rarely do I miss mine. Sunday morning worship, nice meal, a little work or recreation, and then the nap. I once heard that we have an internal clock that needs to be reset with a nap every seventh day. I have no idea if it is true, but I claim it as a nice rule to live by. Because I have sleep apnea, I have to nap in my bed with my CPAP. I would prefer getting a nap in a recliner, but that is not to be, at least not without some very painful surgery.
Every nap is a little different. My preference is the dive in and get out kind. They are much more refreshing. My least favorite are the sink to the bottom of the pool, slip unconscious, struggle to wake up, feel dazed, and wonder if I should have napped. Dreamy naps can be fun or frustrating depending on the content. I best like the ones with my Mom and Dad in them; it just feels good to have a few moments with them if only in my sub-conscious imagination. I guess I have some unresolved issues; thank you very much Sigmund Freud.
I once had a great dream in which Dad was riding on the back of a motorcycle with me. We pulled up beside two guys on a motorcycle having problems. Dad reached into the saddlebag, pulled out a few wrenches and proceeded to repair their bike as we continued down the road. What a contradictory dream. Dad was the kind of person to stop and help someone in trouble. He hated (and I do mean “hate”) motorcycles.
On very rare occasions I will take a nap during the week, such as when I am sick or stressed. Those are in my office; I lock the door, get a book for a pillow, and lie on the floor and nap. The book and floor ensure it doesn’t last more than five to seven minutes. I awake refreshed and sore, a good combination for productive office work.
The nice thing about Sunday naps is that you don’t have to lock the door or worry that someone will catch you, guilt free napping.
February 1, 2010