T here was a time I didn't believe in naps. I know, blasphemy - but I guess I just wasn't thinking clearly.
I blamed my contacts - if I started the day with them in my eyes and then fell asleep for 40 minutes or so, I could count on having to peel them from my corneas later on at midnight.
And then I'd have massive blocks of afternoon classes.
Yes, I could have dropped my head on my desk and slumbered away in the warm cocoon of my winter coat in the dimly lit Cabot Auditorium at 3:30 p.m. I gladly would have curled up in the alcove of Eaton to be lulled into a 15 minute doze by the hum of the vending machines. And the jagged pen marks trailing down the pages of my notebooks show that I was indeed getting brief reprieves of shuteye from my professor's enthralling description of synaptic homeostasis.
But I never really napped, and by the time I was done with classes at 5:45 and elbowing my way through the stir-fry line at Carmichael, I was fully awake again and ready to hear about my friends' encounter last weekend with TUPD and an impromptu streaking up the Memorial Steps.
This semester, though, I have stumbled upon something so glorious, so earth-shakingly spectacular that I felt I had to share it with you: the Nap Block. It is elusive and difficult to capture, but I've achieved consistent contact with it.
I think it happened because I wasn't even trying.
Of course, the usual no-Friday-classes rule applied while I registered last semester, but with my time at Tufts winding down, I couldn't be too choosy about finishing up my requirements.
But by the magic of the schedule-gods, I am class-free from 12 to 3pm every day.
Alright, so it isn't really just the Nap Block. I schedule work and meetings and various errands into that time. But those days when I really need to crash (like when I stay up writing my columns, er, papers ... Ok, watching Scrubs reruns) I can make time to return to the pillow I was so reluctant to leave a few hours ago.
So I'm a bit new to this nap thing, and for a while I'd spend my time just laying there with my eyes closed thinking: "Sleep, darn you sleep, you only have 20 more minutes and then you have to get up and organize your sock drawer."
It's hard to just shut out the day and relax, leaving the stress of classes and impending work behind. I'd get caught up in thoughts of the homework I could be tackling instead of catching a few minutes of rest.
But instead, I feel like I've got a whole other day in front of me - breaking up the day pre-nap and post-nap is bizarrely rewarding, and somehow empowering. Just try taking a nap and then talking about your day to a friend later. I call it "nap dropping." It has to be done subtly to see the full effect.
For example, " ... and after Econ I took a nap and then headed to meet with my advisor about my summer internship with Ross Perot ... " Watch your friends' jaws drop as they make you pause and say, incredulously, "Wait a minute - nap?! I wish I had taken a nap today," And suddenly, you're the envy of the whole common room.
Everyone always wants to nap, so why don't we make it a higher priority? The day feels infinitely better (unless you nap after 5 p.m. or so, and end up feeling nocturnal) and you're usually in a much better mood. And pleasant people are so much more likeable than cranky people.
I watched the movie "Babel" the other day, and I think that's the message it tried so hard to convey. But I'm not sure. I fell asleep before the end.
Because I needed a nap.
