I love naps. More than I should, probably.
I have actually wondered if one can become addicted to naps.
Now, in all honesty, I have to say that I do not get to nap every day. Or even every week. Or even much of ever.
But, I never seem to wake up in the morning without the thought of how I will need/must take/will want a nap later in that day.
I think about napping all of the time. I once even dreamed about napping. It’s soaked into my regular thoughts. It’s my drug of choice (well, that and Diet Coke), even if I only get to feed that addiction occasionally.
Now, let me tell you why I am tired:
I actually do not have any damn idea why I am so tired.
At this point, my kids are school-aged, so they don’t cry all night, wanting to be rocked. Though, the flip-side of that coin is that they don’t let me rock them much anymore, either. Careful what you wish for.
I have a job as a teacher which can be exhausting and stressful, but I love it so friggin’ much that I feel like that can’t be the problem.
I do wake up at 5:00 every bloody morning, but that is not an ungodly hour. I feel like 5:00 is exactly when the hour turns from ungodly to just plain “early.” Waking at 4:59 would be ungodly.
I exercise. I’m not at it every day, but 2-3 times each week I get in a hard work out. Like, a maybe-I-might-puke, weighted, sweaty, coach-driven workout at a real gym with real equipment and a real fitness plan.
My life isn’t really all that different from anyone else’s, but yet I seem to feel as though I am infinitely more tired than everyone else in the history of ever. On the whole planet.
On some level I do hope that all of you people out there who do not look as though you are about to peel over like a piece of bologna right off of a deli slicer are just faking it. I would like to think that none of you has your shit together either and that you, too, were slapped with a sticky, ungloved hand of adult reality when you learned that being a grown-up absolutely did not mean that you knew things and had things organized and could think straight, like, ever.
I’d like to go on the record, though, and clearly state that there is no amount of money or material reward that could talk me into going back to being 13 again. I don’t even want to be 23. Or any age, really. I am not even mad about all of the adult responsibilities I have. But, I definitely thought as a kid that when I became an adult, I’d at least be in charge of my own life.
Man was I wrong.
As a teen, I deeply resented that I had to answer to my parents and other grown-ups. I was so excited to grow up. I was pretty stupid.
My parents no longer own my ass exclusively, but plenty of other, meaner people do now:
*the community people who decide how long my grass is allowed to grow and when I have to put my garbage out
*the demanding parents of all of my students
*my kids’ teachers who send home homework that they KNOW the kids cannot do by themselves, so essentially, they give ME homework to do
*the lady at the grocery store checkout counter who keeps telling me that I have to PAY for my food
*the advertising geniuses at Target who convince me to come in for deodorant and somehow Jedi-Mind-Trick me into spending $350 on storage bins, kids’ socks, gold glitter plates and Brita filters
*some fucking guy who invented Minecraft, thus giving my son a fresh reason to NEEEEEEEEEED more and more games, t-shirts, books and toys
*my colleagues because the Friday Happy Hour pitchers aren’t going to drink themselves
I have responsibilities I owe to a myriad of people and entities. Maybe that is why I am so tired. I don’t really know. I think I ought to take a nap right this very now and ponder it. Sleep on it, if you will.
When I wake, I no doubt will not at all be refreshed, but I will have successfully avoided having had been in service to anyone for at least one short stretch of time.