I beat my alarm this morning. Woke up mid-dream, instantly stressed … tripping out.
My eyes were barely open and I’m thinking about the 93 emails from yesterday that I was unable to get to. I was actually visualizing the number in bold blue font — 93 — while tiny sealed envelope icons floated around like a cheesy screensaver in my still dreamy brain.
Heart thuds like a techno beat on crack, my mind providing the bass line: conference calls, meetings, my show today, 21 voicemail messages — they’ll start deleting at 30 — shoots, dinner dates, I forgot to fax that form, did I return that text? I haven’t finished my Christmas cards, bills are late, wait, what time is it? Am I late for work?
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. UNCE. UNCE. UNCE.
I leap out of bed, knowing there is only one solution to stop the madness: a big fat frothy latte and the treadmill. Gotta blow off this steam STAT or somebody’s going to get hurt.
8 minutes later I’m in the gym. I ask the other 2 exercisers if they care if I turn on the TV, they say no. I grab the remote and tune in just in time for live coverage of president-elect Obama’s presser. The topic is the auto bailout … but hungry reporters will, no doubt, be hitting him left and right with questions about Illinois Gov. Blagojevich. Dodgy crook.
Obama takes center-stage on that conservative set we’re all so sick of, he stands behind the standard podium which is equally boring. I really hate those press conference sets. They are so commercial and stiff. I wish someone would fix this visual … it would make them a lot easier to stomach. The whole set-up is so unrelatable that it’s borderline condescending.
He speaks. I almost miss the opening line from soon-to-be president Barak Obama, because I am overcome by his tired eyes.
O … you need a nap.
Necesita una siesta. Ahora!
I snapped out of it long enough to hear the jist of the message and a chuckle at his “this is a family program” comment when fielding questions about the wire-tapping transcripts in the Blagojevich scandal. Our president-elect is such a great speaker, which is why I noticed his frequent stumbles and stutters … not to mention his sinking, fatigued face.
He’s tired.
I’m tired.
You tired?
I look at the woman to my left. She’s beating the sh– out of an elliptical machine with her spandex-covered gams, iPod intact, she’s staring — well actually, she’s glaring — at the clock. As sweat drips down her uncomfortable looking face, I’m worried she might go into cardiac arrest any second.
On my right there’s a younger man he doesn’t look as spent … he just looks miserable. He’s one of those people who you know is closer to 28 years old, but has the face of a worn out, middle-aged adult pushing 40. He’s lifting free weights all half-assed. I swear I see him roll his eyes at his own lack-luster.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the far mirrored wall looking like a hot mess. Bags under my eyes, pale, chipped fingernail polish, an overgrown haircut … who is that trainwreck?
Eyes shoot back to the television where President-elect Barak Obama is introducing former Senator Tom Daschle as our new leader in the Department of Health and Human Services … as I get one last look at O’s sleepy mug, I fantasize that Daschle is going to step behind that podium and unveil a fresh plan for America.
“All businesses are now required to close up for 2 full hours midday for a mandatory company-wide siesta. Employees must be given the option to go home and crash, or snooze in the company naproom that will be federally funded,” I imagine him saying. “Taking a page out the ancient Latin playbook, our country will engage in the most natural form of health care — sleep. Every business is, from now on, required to stop practices at precisely 1pm and resume promptly at 3pm, no exceptions,” I hear in my head.
Jogging lazily, I drift back into dreamville. I imagine a Siesta America. I picture all of my high-strung, workaholic friends snuggling up with a blanky at 1:30 in the afternoon and it makes me smile. I catch Young Guy Who Looks Old watching me. His grouchy face tells me he’s probably thinking, “What the hell is that girl so happy about? Freaky chick staring into space, smiling on the treadmill.”
I picture what my own office would be like if we went Euro and napped midday. Dinner would be later, afternoon productivity would be stronger, morning moods would be chipper because we’d all be thinking: siesta time in only a couple hours!
If you’ve done any traveling overseas, you know how different people are. Is there not a layer of contentment that you just don’t see here in the U.S.? I could write about all of the historical angles that support my America Needs a Nap theory, but I’d be typing all friggin day. In a nutshell, we all need to slow the bleep down!
Can’t Daschle just force the prescription of a nation-wide chill pill and Obama put the stamp on siestas? The Law of Nap, damn I like the sound of that …
Hey, I love your writing. I’m a newbie at the blogosphere thingy too. I’m gonna RSS you, so I can keep reading. If you want, check out my blog and if you don’t hate it, I’m always looking for new people to link to in my blogroll.
Take care,
Jake
jakeisaniceguy.com
Oh, except you have no RSS feed…
oh well. I’m gonna go take a nap.
I absolutely agree. College students are notorious for naps, and it’s why we have such great skin!
As an American expat lawyer with Spanish residency, I assure you it’s not always that great. Sure, some people go home and sleep, but if you live half an hour a way, do you really want to spend 2 hours of each day in the Metro just to have an hour break anyway?
Most people in countries with longer lunch breaks (especially in Spain, where being at the office is better for your career than actually doing something while at the office) that are professionals only take about an hour of their 2 hour break. I take all of it because, well, I can.
When I lived in Barcelona I used to wear board shorts under my suit and go to the beach and have a sandwich (amb tumaca) and head back to the office after getting golden brown (not guiri pink).
Now in Madrid, I’m one of those individuals who lives 30 minutes from my firm and, since I can’t nap in my office (Torquemada might assign me another task if I’m actually here), I go to the gym. So, I guess I’m more productive but no napping. Oh wait, I do that in the office after going to the gym during my siesta. Ah, Spain.
Absolutely love your writing style — the beat, the rhythm — very hip!
Yumi
I want to RSS your site.
Can you put the “subscribe” button somewhere?
Thanks!
azoptimist
Great post. I’ve been there. ;]
You’re a fantastic writer.
@expat
right now I can only wish for that, but dam do I wanna make it happen (live in Spain that is)
what surprised me most is that you’re a lawyer, knowing all the money you could make in the states you migrated, that just proves my theory that there are no good lawyers in the states.
:p
What I wanted to do (if I had money, which I do not) was to open something in local malls called Nap Centers. This would be where people like me, the dad/husband thing, would go when the family was off wandering aimlessly around the mall carelessly spending the money.
You would have a cot, a bit of 4 walled draping, and you could plug in your headphones into a TV or radio. And unless there was a death in the family no one cold bother you for the prescribed number of hours you paid for. And the death in the family had to be someone you really liked.
I’ll vote for the Law of the Nap. It might only be wonderful in theory, but we all need more sleep. And imagine the night life!
@wanabe
It really is different and I’d suggest anyone who wants to go should try. There are some frustrating things (having student loans and not getting paid the salary you would at a BigLaw firm in the U.S. and the fact that my undergrad degrees are far more prestigious than my J.D. here), but the personal advantages were great for me.
My lawyer friends in NY (and brother) work long hours and get to spend a lot of money around town and during the week or two they can get away. I live modestly, rarely stay more than 20 minutes past my timetable (which includes a friday afternoon off every other week), and have six weeks of vacation. SIX weeks at the beach . . .