I write this following an hour-long nap. Plus, I must confess, two snarling blows to the five-minute snooze button. That’s in addition to the nine hours of last night’s sleep that ended just five hours ago.
Sure, it’s the weekend, when naps are often indulged in by so many. Uh, wait, is it actually Saturday? I’m retired, so you might think it doesn’t really matter.
I couldn’t agree more. Too often, naps and their resulting brief spurts of energy are highlights of my day. They’re right up there with meals and pondering which BBC series to binge on that night.
“Inspector Morse,” “Death in Paradise,” possibly “Miss Marple”? Perhaps change gears to “Star Trek: Picard” or “VEEP”?
Sometimes, of course, I simply meander through my “must read” pile of books, hoping a distracting anodyne leaps forth.
Whatever the result, it’s accompanied by drinks and a hastily concocted dinner, with cats glowering. Each night, night after night.
I take no pride in this. But as an introvert with few nearby friends and grandchildren grown, it’s the easiest spiral into comforting isolation.
Lovely film, Thomas. Thank you.
Careful to avoid naps during church.