Sunday, July 8, 2018

Nap Rooms and Small Acts of Survival

I need to sit down for a bit, I said.

You know there’s a nap room? my friend replied.


I followed my friend thru a door down a short hall. Sharp left.  There is was.  A long and narrow room.  Four bean bags. Lighting not dim but not bright. The base beat from the main room of the club below came up thru the floor.  The brighter disco music from the bar down the halls permeated lightly as well.

Whoozy. I felt whoozy.  It wasn’t as bad as I’d worried it could be.  I laid down on the bean bag.  I thrashed about a bit first like our dog does sometimes before settling into a spot. I’m big. Six foot three and more than 200 pounds.  So the bean bag was disproportionate. I didn’t want to be greedy by taking more than one. 

This felt safe.  Like a place I could be for a while.  My molly was peaking.   Cresting. Overwhelming.  Why doesn’t every club have a nap room?!  I’d thought I’d thought that but I said it out loud.  I said it out loud many times that night.  Any many times after. 

Tonite will be different.  Tonite this whooziness will pass and I’ll stand up and rejoin the party. The party downstairs. Down the hall. Up on the roof.  I just need some time.  Some time in this nap room.

People rotated in a checked on me.  Sat on a corner of the bean bag and talked or just sat.  Other partiers came and went. Mummer mummer prattle tattle bahaha.  I closed my eyes and listened.

Do you want an Adderall?

YES! Please.  

My hope hoped that addy would be like a life preserver tossed out to me on a line.  The addy will pull be back to land and I will be able to stand without the whoosh and the whoozy and rejoin the party. 

And it did.  I did.  I leaned forward off the bean bag and my thighs and quads found my knees and my calves and my feet and I was upright again.  Sturdily standing I put one foot in front of the other and left the nap room.

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