This was originally written January 5, 2024, in case you were wondering if Noodle had been resurrected. I figure I’ll start sharing some of my writing that would otherwise go to die on my computer.

How lovely is an afternoon nap, especially during the wintertime? I love cozying on the couch with the dogs, pilfering heat from their little bodies. I place my sweatshirt hood over my head, warming my ears, then give my body permission to relax. I remind myself to let go of any tension my body holds, and each time I re-release, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.

I love those moments when I can feel myself getting sleepier, but I’ve not yet drifted off. I recognize that sleep is near—that it’s merely a matter of time until my body fully succumbs to the peace of the afternoon nap. I don’t even mind if something jolts me back to near-full awareness because that means I get to enjoy the process all over again with a slight head start.

There’s something magical about hearing John walk by—about hearing his fingers softly hit the keyboard as he types. It reminds me that I’m rebelling. When the rest of the world is awake and working, I’m sneaking away to my special place. The place where, for a moment, I can be free from anything that creates worry in that noggin of mine.

When a dog adjusts to get cozier, I feel more comfortable by proxy. Maybe Noodle will stretch out, then curl back up, reminding me of her presence. Perhaps Magpie will stand for a quick circle, then settle back down, giving me the gift of warmth all over again. Or Benny may lift his miniature head, alerted by a sound, then rest his chin back on my leg with the tiniest of sighs—a sign of our concurrent comfort.

And each little disruption is a reminder that I’m taking time for myself. I’m grateful that my lifestyle allows me the flexibility to plop down on the couch for an afternoon siesta. I embrace the gift of additional sleep, smack in the middle of the day, when I could be “thriving” in the land of capitalistic productivity. But what I’m doing is perhaps more productive than any of it. I’m recharging my body, my mind, my soul. 

I often wake up after an hour or so, some days closer to two. I know I’ve succeeded when there are indentations on my face—signs that I achieved the miraculous afternoon snooze. If the dogs are still cozy, it’s hard to get up; I feel held hostage by their comfort. But, if a dog sits up as I begin to stir, it’s easier to leave my place of refuge and reenter the world with a peace I didn’t have before—a serenity that resulted from my midday nap.

Sometimes rebellion doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes the best insurrection of all involves the couch, three dogs, and an afternoon reset.