I had a job at a newspaper when I was 23, then it folded.
I worked in politics, then I was fired.
I worked at a national association and I was laid off.
So most of my life has been spent sitting here, in a chair, in my house doing piece work.
Sometimes, I write speeches. Other times, I write articles for magazines and newspapers. Still other horrible times, I find myself editing dust dry scientific or policy wonk tomes that nobody would want to read.
The thread through all my freelance life has been the nap.
Mostly, I nap after lunch, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon. Naps last between 20 minutes and two hours depending on what else I have to do — which is usually not very much.
The duration also depends on whether I am over-stressed, in which case, I lay on the bed and vibrate.
Or in my menopausal case, sweat.
A nap is accompanied, always, by two pugs, one who sleeps behind my knees, the other who sleeps on my back.
Pugs are championship napsters.
Ever since I started working out at the gymnasty, I have had no trouble napping, none whatsoever.
I lay my head on the pillow, Gordie tucks in and Ming straddles my ever shrinking back fat.
And I’m out.
I love this, and it is singularly the best part of working out.
The napping part.
I’ve always wondered how people survive without naps.
Some of them smoke, others drink a lot of coffee.
They all have wrinkles.
They are all crabby.
So here’s to the nap.
It is life’s most wonderful gift.
To the unemployed, retired and lazy. To the hung over or the over-stressed. To those who are well or those who are the sick.
Naps make the world a little cheerier on a wet and cold April day.