Sunday Nap

Yesterday, after a typical whirlwind, busy day at the cafe, i left work and headed home where i figured i would lie down and take my routine, every-Sunday, three-hour nap. Ahh, the Sunday Nap. The king of all naps. I once thought that if i could somehow sell this nap, say to people with insomnia, i would be a billionaire. It is that great of a nap. So great, in fact, that i often feel better rested after this nap than i do after some entire nights of sleep. It is the best rest that i get all week. And yet, somehow, i sort of resent this nap. Every Sunday, as work kind of winds to an end, i tell myself that i am not going to take a nap today. Today i am going to go fishing. I am going to go mushroom-hunting. I am going get some things done around the house that i have needed to do forever. See, Sundays are a precious thing. They are good for so many things. They are a good day to work, actually. I make a lot of money on Sundays and yet it is still rather laid-back because it is Sunday and Sundays just have that vibe. Yet Sunday is a great day to have off too. To sleep in. To make a giant breakfast of blueberry pancakes and bacon and cantaloupe and coffee. It is a great day to lie in a hammock and read for like five hours. Yet it is also a good day to do laundry, to clean out your closet, to go canoeing. So, even though it is good for napping, it is great for napping, I feel bad napping. Like i am wasting my time. There is always so much more i could be doing on a Sunday afternoon. So for the first time in five or six months, i got off work and, telling myself i wasn't going to take a nap, i actually didn't. I took a shower and headed over to my friend Kori's house to help her plan her garden. To drink beers in the sun and watch the dogs bark at each other. I felt envious of her, as i always do, even though she is going through a divorce and just put one of her dogs to sleep last Friday. I felt envious of her garden, of her garage full of dry cement she will never use, of the artistic way she has arranged pictures in her living room, of her house, of her dog, of her job, of her independence. See, i have often thought of myself as a very independent person. But i never really have been. I have never really lived by myself or completely supported myself. I have always had roomates and shared living spaces and have always depended on other people for fun and a reason to cook a meal. I have been feeling particularly dependent the past eight months living with my parents, who have been a huge financial support for, well pretty much forever. I know that in order to have this life, this house and garden, i have to stop moving around for awhile. I have to pick a place, probably a place like des moines where things are cheap and jobs actually exist, and stay. Then i would just get restless and sad and wish i didn't have so much stuff. That if i didn't have all this stuff i could just get up and go whenever i got bored, which is about once a year really. Today i feel tired. Maybe because i didn't get my nap in. Maybe because i drank too much at the bar last night, trying with Kori to figure out the answers to have both. Both independence and love. Both security and complete freedom.