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Let Me Take A Nap, For The Love Of God! before/after My mother has something against me taking naps. Something about it bothers her viscerally. She will never admit it. Never has, never will. But a struggle in my life has been to take the afternoon nap, and devise plans and wiles to avoid the disruption. I don't understand it. I doubt I ever will. For awhile I thought it was her reaction to me going to the ice-cream plant as my summer job and smoking pot all day. I thought it was her reaction against drugs. We started early at the ice-cream plant. Five thirty most mornings. (Really, what better place in the world to be perpetually stupefied on marijuana. Big vats of ice cream. All one could eat and more. I focused on my job with precision, and acted with celerity and skill. It was definitely one of the times in my life that I have been happy.) My then-boss used to deal drugs, among other things. He kept the crew stoned and happy all day. I would get out at two in the afternoon. I would then go work out, come home, and lust to crash like a man falling down. I smoked more pot before seven a.m. than most people smoke all day. This pattern was successful, and there was the undeniable need to sleep prompted by the early start time. She still struggled against it. One day, I came home early, simply looking to crash before I went to work out. She would have none of it, and seemingly, the lawn had to be mowed exactly then. Not a minute later. It would be too late, and that was bad business. So I started to mow the lawn. In the front of my parents yard, there is a massive drainage ditch. It is much like there is a moat in front of their house. I promptly nodded off on the lawn mowing detail, and tumbled into the moat accompanied by the whirring blades of the riding lawn mower. I remember distinctly the whirring blades. The safety had been disabled by my father, who apparently only believes in certain safety devices. Utter shock. Filth abounded. Adrenaline surge. I lept up the side of the bank and went into the garage. Naturally I was a mess, and this was a king hell mess. (I had to climb back down to help get it out, too. Object lesson.) My friends didn't mention it until years later, when it was safe. Anyway, I figured with that coup-de-gras of faux pas the issue of afternoon naps had been settled, once and for all. Not even close. I tried to take a nap this week, and was confronted about it, as though I had committed a crime, or a venal sin. I waxed sarcastic and apologized for taking a nap. I still think of the experience as truly bizzarre. And now, all week, even when I find a quiet spot to lay down, not in a bedroom, as I finally start to truly doze off, she will sneak up and have some pretext that will and up in me staying awake. Truly strange. I hope I don't snap. They both have been truly nice, and extremely indulgent to me. But why can I not take a nap? What weirdness is this? I just don't understand.
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