Napping is a great pleasure, something I anticipate every weekend after lunch or doing something strenuous like, oh, say, watering the plants. But getting in an uninterrupted half-hour or so of blissful dozing with the ceiling fan gently stirring the air and keeping me comfortably cool in the shaded quiet of my bedroom seems to be something that the world is determined I will never accomplish. There is always some interruption; a dog next door barking at one of the feral cats; a teenager overcompensating for his inadequacies by driving his car with the coffee-can muffler as fast and as loudly as he can down my street; even a black helicopter practicing the secret take-over of downtown Coral Gables by the Trilateral Commission by hovering over a nearby abandoned bank building. But I am ever the optimist and ever hopeful that somehow today I will be able to steal away a few precious moments in the arms of Morpheus, lulled by the pages of a bland mystery novel I bought last summer.
So I lie down, the pillows plumped and comfortable, my glasses safely stowed away, the blinds turned against the afternoon sun. And it happens. I’m just dozing off, and the phone rings. The University of Miami wants to update my information for the “collectors edition” of the alumni directory. I say as politely as possible that I’m not interested. They say that it will go to support the alumni association. I repeat that I am not interested. I terminate the phone call.
I cannot get back to sleep. Morpheus has stomped off in disgust, and now I have to go to the bathroom.
So I figure I might as well blog about it.