The Joy of Siestas

It has been a long, long day. There was a fire at Embarcadero, so BART wasn't running into or out of San Francisco. I got off the train, waited for a bus that didn't come, got back on the train when they started running again, and kept dozing off while standing up. This is on top of the very long week I had last week, as we spent practically all of last month in production. We just wrapped the last of the mags today (yay!) and won't be in production again until June 18.

All of that is a way of saying that I'm very, very tired.

Now that today's work is pretty much (maybe entirely) done, I'm sitting at my computer, reading a webcomic. And I keep starting to drift off....

It is in situations like this that I find myself missing my last workplace. Don't misunderstand—it wasn't fun. You know that phrase about the inmates running the asylum? I'm convinced it was inspired by my last job. No, what I miss about my old job was my desk. Specifically the space beneath my desk. It was just nice and warm and dark under there, and the desk/chair height ratio was just right so that, when I pulled the chair up to the desk, you couldn't really see under it. So, after strategically placing my desk chair and wastebasket (and maybe a folder or magazine hanging off the desk for good measure), I had the perfect little hidey-hole for midday naps. Especially after I started keeping a spare sheet in one of my drawers. My work-time naps began out of necessity—I get migraines and, when one hits, I need to take a pill and lie down someplace dark. Immediately.

However, once I decided I was leaving my job and moving across the country, I...shall we say...checked out. That's how I discovered the joy (and efficacy) of daily siestas. And, because I was hidden under my desk (and, fortunately, nowhere near my boss' office), my napping went pretty much unnoticed. A few of my coworkers knew, but thought it was funny and had no interest in informing on me. They knew to retrieve me in case of an emergency. Worked for me.

Interestingly—despite my dis- and reappearances from under my desk, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a tie-dyed sheet—I was by far one of the more normal employees.