Most of us have that one thing that will completely knock us out. For some it’s trying to read Middlemarch; others, watching TV. For me it’s the Friday night couch. During the rest of the week it moonlights as a regular two-cushioned microfiber sofa on which I take fitful naps and lie there with my eyes closed. Starting around 7 in the evening Friday night, it transforms itself into the most comfortable spot in the house and casts its spell over me. Before I know it, I’m out. It is the hours-long complete dead to the world sleep where one wakes up confused and befuddled as to where one is.
Steve and Toby are well-versed in the Friday night sleep routine. Steve takes off my glasses, closes my book (always marking the page), covers me with a blanket, and finishes my wine. Toby will climb over my legs and curl up at my feet to get some of the blanket action. Meanwhile, Steve will make a couple of half-hearted attempts to wake me up so I can go to bed, but the couch has me firmly in its grips. It will not release me until he goes to bed– his determination to not have me sleep all night on the couch is greater than the couch’s power.
The Friday night couch makes a lot of sense during the school year. Between commuting, teaching, grading, running clubs, dealing with students, and the very act of living life, I’m pretty pooped at the end of the week. After one or two sips of wine, I’m out. It makes sense. But last night did not make sense. Yesterday after my walk, I met a friend for lunch, watched Sex and the City, and Steve took me out to dinner (and this more or less describes my week). The weather was beautiful and cool, and I looked forward to spending an evening with my hubby. We got home from dinner, and I kid you not, fifteen minutes barely passed before I was conked out on the couch. What gives? I’m on break! Four hours later Steve roused me up enough so I could crawl into bed.
I wish Friday night couch could transform into Sunday night bed, because during the school year I never expect to sleep on Sunday nights. On Mondays I wake up tired and crabby– all part of gearing up for the Friday night couch.
Readers, do you have a place or time that is your “magic” sleeping spot?