I'm fond of the Churchillian afternoon nap, dating back to some of my earliest childhood memories: a pair of Jehovah's Witness ladies would visit my mother, once a week, I think, and I'd wake up around the time they were leaving. I'd always get a Certs from one of them. ("Here's to the small things that give pleasure...", as David Thomas once wrote).

So early on, it was reinforced in my mind that good things happened after a nap. It's still true, though the Good Thing now is merely a welcome recharging of my batteries, not a minty-fresh disc to suck on.

A nap was part of my dorm life, but at least twice a week, it was thwarted. My room, at the end of the hall, was right around the corner from some practice rooms; there was a trombonist - whose room was at the other end - who'd do some warmups while marching (slowly) his way towards the practice rooms. I'd wake up, and never be able to get back to sleep, so I'd sluggishly head to the practice rooms myself, or start on my homework. If I napped at 3 PM, he'd stroll by at 3:15; if I napped at 4:30... you get the idea.

At its worst (when I was most desperate for sleeeeep), I'd wake up muttering "Die, Trombone Boy!", but he was, otherwise, a pretty nice person. I let him live.