To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

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For whatever reason, I’ve never been a very good napper.
 
Even as a child, I had trouble napping. Well, I could nap just fine at home, in the comfort of my own bed surrounded by familiar objects and smells. Anywhere else, and sleep just wouldn’t happen. Trouble was, adults felt compelled to chastise me for not sleeping, even though I really wanted to sleep, I just couldn’t.
 
And none of them would believe me when I told them it was no use. I couldn’t sleep in strange places. But what would I know of my own sleep patterns? I was just three.
 
Fast forward to college. I’m still lame at naps. My freshman year, I was constantly wired. I was so nervous. About everything. I couldn’t relax if I tried. I’d try to sleep in the perpetually noisy dorm. Ha. Nothing doing. You could put a neon sign in the hallway telling potential visitors that you were sleeping and to please be quiet, and people will barge in anyway. My little post-it notes had no effect on the teeming hordes that would come to my door whenever I tried to sleep.
 
Then came senior year, when I’d fall asleep if I sat down and stayed still for longer than fifteen seconds. Still, deliberate naps were a challenge. The room would have to be dark, the roommates out, earplugs in my ears, me in PJs, and my fan would need to be on for additional whit noise. Even then, sleep was sketchy and sporadic, if sleep came at all.
 
Now I’m out of college. I felt a bit drowsy and tried for a thirty-minute nap, not thinking I’d even fall asleep.
 
I was unconscious for three hours.
 
I won’t even try to explain this one, other than to suggest my body is making up for all the naps it’s needed over the last four long years.  
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