This Great Society - Arts

 

Illustration: Jim Boraas

Joel Bentley: Naps
Illustration: Jim Boraas

 
 

I love naps. I love the brevity of them. The efficiency. They are well-placed commas. The snack-break/pee-break pause of feature films. The afternoon hiatus. The mid-day siesta. A luxury for the common man.

I love naps in all their variations. There are post-work exhaustion naps. Sunday afternoon listening to golf naps. Waking up a block before your bus stop naps. Lunch-break naps. Even on the clock naps (vocation permitted). Naps with the dog cradled in the nook behind your knee-caps. Holding her just so naps. “What the hell, I’m on vacation” naps. Unexpected naps. Planned naps. “I couldn’t help it” naps. Or hockey period intermission naps, rousing to the surprisingly gentle alarm of the crowd and clash.

I love napping in the living room at my parents house, the chop-chop daydream of dinner prep wafting in from the kitchen. Or the end of party naps, sinking into the couch as conversation becomes the coda on a fine day.

I love naps where you don’t even realize you’ve been sleeping until you wake up. The ones that feel an hour long but have really only lasted a few minutes.

Or there’s the drive-home naps, with that milky warm feeling in your bones upon waking.

Oh the waking. The slow emersion from water. The gray-toned fog of dreamland giving way as a room colours and forms itself into concrete shapes. Your eyes lift slowly. Your mind rights itself. You begin anew.

 
 

 

 
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