I nap, even though my body hates me for it.
I look back at my childhood self with distain for refusing to or lying about my naps to avoid the behaviour. I wish I could take those naps now.
In keeping with either my inner child or inner pensioner, I often find myself asleep before the sun goes down for an average of two hours. This happens two or three times a week if time permits.
However, when I do nap, I spend the wee hours of the morning scoffing biscuits, watching bad late night television, drinking camomile tea, and being a general nuisance to those who live in the flat below me (sorry, Al).
I also feel incredibly guilty post-nap for frittering to many useful day hours away. The hours I've spent napping could've been used to form economic models or doing homework.
It's the beauty sleep with no effect, I fear. It's also contributing to my newfound nocturnal behaviour and dependence on espresso.
These are just my ramblings after a particularly indulgent four hour snooze-- delirious with that "I've just woken up so now I feel the strange urge to hug people" emotion. Ignore them if you like.
I wouldn't ignore them if you see me within the next few days. I may either be extremely energetic or giving you looks of death behind panda-eyes.
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