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When I was little my parents would put us down for naps almost every day. Especially on Sundays - after we got home from church, we would be herded upstairs into our pajamas and forced to lie down for an hour. It didn't matter if we slept or not, but we had to stay in our beds.

To me it meant "punishment." Even into my teen years, I couldn't take joy in falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon. My mouth always tasted weird when I got up, and I couldn't shake that sluggish feeling for the rest of the day. Even now, I only "hunker down for a mid-day respite" (my dad can never just say "take a nap") if I'm sick or working third shift in the summer.

Today I couldn't wait to get out of my Shakespeare class, change into my flannel pajama pants, and crawl under the covers, if only for half an hour.

I always get really excited to take naps now, which gets me so pumped up that I can't go to sleep - it takes a good ten minutes before I've calmed down enough to think about shutting down my brain and just being still for a while. But when I do finally get to that silent point, it takes a bomb to wake me up.

This afternoon I analyzed the process of going to sleep, the steps that got me from wide awake to comatose.

First I had to get comfortable. I plumped up the two pillows (the top one has flannel sheets now) and pulled the four blankets up over my shoulders. And because it's winter and I don't use nearly as much lotion as I should, I spent a good two minutes trying to scratch all the itches that were hidden underneath two long-sleeved shirts (most of which, of course, were in the middle of my back where my arms don't reach). I finally snuggled down and closed my eyes, which burned from staying up too late last night (and contacts) and were disappointingly un-soothed by the act of closing them.

I assumed the sleeping position that I've had since I was an infant: bent at the waist like a <, legs straight down, one hand under my pillow, the other curled loosely and touching my forehead. I consciously shove everything out of my head - assignments, plans to grab dinner before rehearsal, things to do before graduation, letters that I should be writing, projects WAY far down the road that I should be starting but don't have time to, praying for a snow day, wondering whether it would be worth my time to do laundry now or get up early tomorrow and do it (or bank on a snow day and brave the elements to the laundry room while everybody is still in bed). Because I need this. I need to sleep. Last night I stayed up way later than I anticipated and still had to get up early for work - if I hope to be any good to anyone later, I need this nap.

I remember catching myself as I fell down the "falling asleep" slope. There's always a point where I breathe deeper than I do when I'm awake, and that deepest sigh that reaches down somewhere in the bottom of my chest and relaxes my whole body is the signal: "I'm almost asleep."

And then, after fifteen minutes of fighting with my covers, pulling my hunting socks tight on my feet, taking care of all the itches, slinging my hair over the pillow and out of my face, and plumping my pillow one last time - I'm gone.

A hard, dead sleep that ends too soon when my phone buzzes under my head.

Time to get up.

The circus goes on.