I know why he napped. Like me, he felt unsettled in the late afternoon hours. This is very hard to explain, but between the time between 3 and 6 p.m. was a low point for him and also for me. Maybe I got this from him. 6 p.m. and later is evening – it is of little consequence whether the day’s expectations have or have not been met.
My father and I differed in that I have always refused to succumb to napping. I simply find something to do, something that usually involves considerable physical activity, like riding a horse or walking a dog.
What I hate most of all are dreams in which I think I’m awake but I’m not. I can’t then move my body. The only thing I can do is wait until I wake up. I haven’t had one of these kinds of dreams for years. They are very unsettling.
I know its going to be a good writing day if for the first few hours upon awaking, I feel groggy. I don’t drink coffee or caffeine tea – this would just put an edge on the grogginess.
Today, at the time in which I napped, I went cross town and spent time with my friend Heather. We did horse agility with her horse, Rio. Heather is now working at home. I should ask her if she ever gets tired, and if so, does she takes naps?
Down in Mexico, people call naps Siestas. Maybe I could indulge if naps were called such, and everyone took one. Maybe. But I suspect that I could not easily give up bulldozing, no matter what it might be called.
Next: 208. 7/28/20: Once a Teacher, Always a Teacher