It has been a long day. Too long. My bags fall off of my body in a discordantly sloppy way, much like a narcoleptic horse might collapse after running full speed only to find the ground swiftly approaching him after falling into an instantaneous sleep. My bed calls to me like a chorus of sirens, their mythical voices ringing promises of forgetfulness and sleep. My book bag, however, blares a siren of its own: HOMEWORK! HOMEWORK! GRADES! AHHHHHH! We all know how it goes. “Just a minute or two,” or “I’ll just rest my head.” Never has a larger lie been woven, our Pinocchio noses growing to a length suitable for mining oil.
I wake up in a sweat. The daylight has ran away from the foreboding night sky, and darkness has engulfed my window, and similarly my soul. I look at the clock, but it tells me nothing, for I am in a world of confusion and distress. What year is it? Is my clock right? Where did the sun go? WHO AM I?! I am suddenly very angry and I can hear the sirens mocking me, both of them. I have tossed away my soul in turn for a few mere hours of sleep, my homework could have been done, I could have cleaned my room, eaten dinner, I could have recreated Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa with a crayon. All of this perfectly good time, wasted. I stand up in a fury and march around, using all of this useless energy to burn off my frustration with myself. My book bag is cackling, and I kick it, injuring my foot from the loads of homework that went unfinished. It is too late now. My schedule has been ruined. I throw myself back down onto that horrible piece of furniture, only to lift myself back up and scold myself.
This is nonsense napping. There are those who could not be happier then to sleep an evening away, but for some reason taking naps seems to unlock a door to my brain in which lives a berserker monkey with a fog horn and an itchy finger. Naps are the root of much of my frustration and unless conscience efforts are made, I may all fall victim to their fake promises.