So I have this personality that can be described as a guardian protector. I guard and protect those I care about, I create circles and groups of people I believe need protecting. And even if I never show or tell them that they exist in my circles of caring, I do care very much about them. Four or five years ago, God told me that my "title" was mother lioness, which goes very well with my personality. I'm fierce when I feel like someone in my circle of caring has been hurt, I want to protect and support them. And right now, I feel like a mother waiting up late for her child to arrive home. My best friend who is staying with me for the weekend is out with her boyfriend, and I'm sitting here, making scarves and watching the clock, waiting for her to come back. I'm a mother. Not literally, but figuratively. My roommate has started to jokingly call me mom when I remind her that she should do something. I have quite a strong mothering instinct. And I'm just a teenager.
(Sorry is this is rambling. It's a little late)
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The gifts of naps
This post is the result of two trains of thought colliding. The first comes from what happened as I napped today. I was trying to wake up from a nap when my roommate came in. I hadn't realized I was asleep; I thought I was on the verge of wakefulness and was worrying about homework assignments, trying to solve math problems in my head. My roommate entering the room snapped me out of that, and I thankfully woke up all the way and realized that it was all a dream. The end result though, was that I felt no different after the nap compared to before the nap. The nap had sucked up an hour and a half of my time and had no effect on my sleepiness and happiness.
The other thing that contributed to this topic was the fact I was sitting alone in the cafeteria eating dinner and feeling lonely. For some reason I started thinking about the first time I recall being completely alone. Not alone as in being a different room than my parents, brothers, etc. But being alone as in all alone in my house. I was probably six or seven and woke up from a nap to an empty house. The lights were turned off, but it was still light outside, and I remember pacing across the kitchen panicking. It turned out that my mom was taking a walk and was only a block away the whole time.
These two things, the non-effect of a nap upon my mood and the memory of waking up from a nap and being alone, made me think about what naps impart upon the nap-taker, the nap-ee, if you will. Not necessarily wakefulness, though that can be one of the things. Some gifts that naps have given me over the past month have been: poems, songs, wakefulness, drowsiness, and loneliness.
How can a nap give the nap-taker a poem you ask? I don't really know. But last week, there were a couple of times that, upon waking up from a nap, the first couple lines of a poem were in my head. I immediately got up and wrote the lines down and more came until I had written a whole poem. I don't understand how it happened, but I was pleased that it happened more than once.
A few days after my naps stopped giving me poems, they started giving me songs. Not that I started writing songs, but I would wake up with a song in my head and realize that I had been singing it aloud in my dream. It was strange, but fun, waking up with music in my head. I would find myself singing the song for the rest of the day
As for wakefulness and drowsiness resulting from naps, I think that they are pretty self-explanatory. A good nap gives wakefulness, a too long nap gives drowsiness. Loneliness results from going to sleep with someone nearby, sleeping too long, and waking up with no one in the house. You wake up drowsy and alone. Naps produce a certain distinct type of loneliness. Anyway, that's what I've been thinking about lately.
The other thing that contributed to this topic was the fact I was sitting alone in the cafeteria eating dinner and feeling lonely. For some reason I started thinking about the first time I recall being completely alone. Not alone as in being a different room than my parents, brothers, etc. But being alone as in all alone in my house. I was probably six or seven and woke up from a nap to an empty house. The lights were turned off, but it was still light outside, and I remember pacing across the kitchen panicking. It turned out that my mom was taking a walk and was only a block away the whole time.
These two things, the non-effect of a nap upon my mood and the memory of waking up from a nap and being alone, made me think about what naps impart upon the nap-taker, the nap-ee, if you will. Not necessarily wakefulness, though that can be one of the things. Some gifts that naps have given me over the past month have been: poems, songs, wakefulness, drowsiness, and loneliness.
How can a nap give the nap-taker a poem you ask? I don't really know. But last week, there were a couple of times that, upon waking up from a nap, the first couple lines of a poem were in my head. I immediately got up and wrote the lines down and more came until I had written a whole poem. I don't understand how it happened, but I was pleased that it happened more than once.
A few days after my naps stopped giving me poems, they started giving me songs. Not that I started writing songs, but I would wake up with a song in my head and realize that I had been singing it aloud in my dream. It was strange, but fun, waking up with music in my head. I would find myself singing the song for the rest of the day
As for wakefulness and drowsiness resulting from naps, I think that they are pretty self-explanatory. A good nap gives wakefulness, a too long nap gives drowsiness. Loneliness results from going to sleep with someone nearby, sleeping too long, and waking up with no one in the house. You wake up drowsy and alone. Naps produce a certain distinct type of loneliness. Anyway, that's what I've been thinking about lately.
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