It’s been a long day. I rehearsed until six p.m., with a lot of crying and screaming and shooting (all part of the script, kids; not a diva tantrum). Then into the car for the drive home through rush hour traffic, the tedium of which was broken only by occasional cursing at drivers who (a) don’t signal; (b) don’t turn on their lights in the rain; (c) tailgate, and (d) do all of the preceding with a cellphone pressed to their big soft heads. Too tired to even enjoy the mix CD Stephen Gregory gave me for a birthday gift – you know you’re tired when Harry Belafonte’s “Jump In The Line” can’t make you bop behind the steering wheel just a little.
Pulled in the driveway at home and decided I was too tired to cook. Called Famous Dave’s and ordered take out for John and me. Got back in the car and drove over to pick it up. Waitron at the take-out window way too chipper. Drove back home with the food. Too sleepy to finish eating all of it (but not too sleepy for some leftover birthday cake). Stretched out on the sofa in front of the TV, with some show about the Knights Templar playing on The History Channel. Gregorian chants make up the soundtrack, and for me, Gregorian chants are just like Sominex. A loud commercial wakes me about 45 minutes later, and I discover I have a crick in my neck from having my head propped on the sofa arm. I could very easily have gone back to sleep but I made myself get up. I called the theatre for tomorrow’s rehearsal schedule, answered some emails, read a magazine article. Thought about more cake. Cruised the internet. Decided to blog. And here I am.
I still feel kind of muzzy. I’m not much of a napper; when I doze, it’s more in the Power Nap category – twenty minutes in neutral and I’m refreshed and ready to go again. A longer nap just knocks me out. I remember when I first moved to DC and shared an apartment with my older sister Julie, who used to nap after dinner in the most charming way. She’d curl up in front of the TV and just drift off. I was always sure that she would wake up after an hour or so and not be able to get to sleep when bedtime came, but that was never the case. She called it her Pre-Sleep Nap. My sister Margaret shared the apartment with us for a while and was also a champion napper (still is). Margaret’s napping style was a little different, though – she’d burrow before she’d nap. I’m not kidding: if she didn’t have a blanket or pillow to huddle under, she would literally worm her way underneath the sofa cushions to sleep. I have a photo somewhere of her napping this way. Margaret is just shy of six feet tall but it’s amazing how she was able to simply disappear into the sofa. I have no idea if she still does this; I doubt it’s necessary because all the sofas and armchairs in her house have soft pillows and comfy throws on them. My mother is also a Nap Master. These days, she seems to be able to nap with her eyes open, which is a neat trick that is no doubt a consequence of having seven children.
I’m yawning and still feeling curl-uppy, but it’s far too early to go to bed – not even 10:30 yet, fer cryin’ out loud. If I felt only a bit more energetic, I’m certain I could find something to do – perhaps empty the dishwasher or learn my lines (yeah, there’s a concept). But the energy level is just about at “E,” so I think I’ll get a glass of water, draw a nice bath and finish reading Vanity Fair (the book, not the magazine).
You all have a pleasant evening. Sweet dreams.