i love to nap. i don’t do it too often, because i’ve had quite a history with insomnia. i know that part of the trick of battling with insomnia is to follow a strict sleep schedule. so, despite my fondness for napping, i forsake it in my desperate bids to sleep at night.

however, the past four weeks or so, i’ve been indulging myself recklessly. there’s something about having to be at a bowling alley before 8 a.m. on a saturday that makes me think i’ve earned the right to nap. i’ve been napping my ass off.

i love naps because it’s the only time i allow myself to indulge in silly, romantic fantasies. these are the kind of romantic fantasies i’ve had since i was a pre-teen and first started having romantic fantasies. please, don’t confuse these with sexual fantasies– they are not even in the same family. i indulge in those kidns of fantasies all the damn time. but the romantic fantasies are reserved solely for naptime.

i think my fantasy stems from the fact that i outgrew my rather petite dad right around the age of 9. when most little girls were still able to crawl into their dad’s lap, seeking comfort and protection, i was already much too big for that. i still envy my sisters who crawl onto my dad’s lap. i envy most any woman who can crawl into anyone’s lap. just the idea of being held by someone who wants to be close to you, makes my eyes sting and my throat ache. it’s something i long for.

my naptime fantasy usually starts with me crawling into bed. i burrow under the covers, curling up on my side, my hands in loose fists tucked under my chest and my chin. even in my fantasylife i cannot get around the idea that if only i were smaller, this wouldn’t be a fantasy at all, rather reality.

this is when the pretending starts.

in the fantasy he comes in, seeing me preparing for sleep and crawls in next to me. he snakes his arm over my waist, one under my shoulder and pulls me close to him. he doesn’t want anything, just the physical closeness, just to warm me. perhaps he’s come in from a poker game/art opening/concert, what have you. something i didn’t want to attend because i was writing/reading/working at the bowling alley. it’s always very important to the fantasy that we have our own seperate lives and come together whenever they intersect. even in fantasy, independence is important.

and that’s all there is to it. in reality, i burrow a little deeper, squirm a little more into the pillows. in the fantasy he interprets this squirming as me trying to get away, and chastizes me for not allowing him to just hold me. but really, in the fantasy, i’m just trying to get a little closer, to feel his arms around me.

then i drift off to sleep, warm in the arms of my imaginary lover. i wake up to your side of the bed filled with cats, books, pens, paper, and glasses. the imaginary lover never seems to make to the other side of the nap. neither does the warm pretend-love that i let coax me to sleep. in the waking reality, it’s just me and the slight tinge of shame for having indugled myself so recklessly in something i’ve never experienced, sure that it would be kind of like heaven.