sunday siesta

I don't know if it's genetics, one of those "GR/Dutch" things, or what, but Sunday afternoon is without question the time of the week I most feel like taking a nap. It's like the conclusion of the Sunday services automatically shifts my body into sleep mode, and so usually I come home and zonk out sometime during the second half of Prairie Home Companion.

The problem is the waking up. Sometimes my little power nap turns into and out-and-out snooze, which is no good at all. Attempting to play the organ in the midst of a nap hangover is not an experience I'd recommend.

It kind of reminds me of a time in college when, after a particularly tough piano lesson in my freshman year, I came back to my room, proceeded to fall asleep for a couple of hours, and then went downstairs to eat dinner.

Yeah.

The Phelps scramble system is practically a sport for a normal, awake person. And even then only the strong survive. It's a known phenomenon that campus visitors - such as on high school visit days - are not the "strong" of which I speak. These wounded gazelles, too polite for their own good, stand at the sidelines, often making the rookie mistake of getting a drink first before attempting to dive into the actual food lines. It's just that they all see the beverage dispensers around the perimeter first, and so they go for what's closest at hand. It's easy to eat in Phelps. But you have to be a bit fearless, and it helps to know what you want. So me in a deep nap haze? Not such a good idea. I remember feeling extremely out of it and confused as I meandered my way around.

But that post-nap feeling is a risk I'm going to have to take, because it's Sunday afternoon.

And that's nap time.

I can hear my futon calling me already.