sleeping and eating, the virtues of (sunday) living

I’m a firm believer that there are few things in life finer than waking up to my own bodyclock (and not the worker ant up-at-7am-without-an-alarm bodyclock ~ I really need to do something about that! ~ but the one that lets me sleep til at least 11am) and then falling back asleep again because guess what? There is nothing I need to get up for today! If you’ve never tried the Second Sleep, I strongly recommend it. It leaves you well rested and revitalised, ready to take on the world – that is, until nap time three hours later.

Yesterday I managed my Second Sleep and even a Third Sleep (…I think, I don’t know, things get a little bit blurry for me between sleeps), which is not to be scoffed at people, considering I didn’t even have a late night on Saturday night (I’ve been told it’s actually difficult for some to stay in bed and not be bored, but I really don’t understand the problem). However, I don’t have a personal chef on call (life is so unfair), and I eventually got h.u.n.g.r.y. and reluctantly hauled ass out of bed at about 1pm.

We meandered down to The Breakfast Club Soho, which is a bearable five minute walk from home and got cosy in a corner table with a full monty (sausage, eggs, beans, mushrooms, tomato, toast – yummy but no different to any other big brekky) and a breakfast burrito (chorizo, egg, peppers and guacamole – I want to marry guacamole!). Sunday is a perfect excuse to bide your time and people-watch, except The Breakfast Club gets a little crowded and it’s not so much fun when people start watching glaring back ready to pounce if you so much as reach for the napkin to wipe your grubby mouth.

To prevent from being stabbed with kitschy mismatched cutlery (I for one know the extent to which a hungry person will go) we escaped to continue our lazy Sunday around the corner at Flat White, an even cosier cafe (fewer hungry people, although I hear stabbings (or maybe just a good prodding) can also occur for good coffee) with friendly Aussie staff (shout out to my people!) and delicious lattes.

The sheer exhaustion of breakfast and two coffees took its toll and around 4pm I hit the sack again.

Nap time.

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This might be an opportune time for me to air my views on naps. I detest people who say I waste my time sleeping when apparently I could be doing something fantastical like outdoor sports. I say that I am not wasting my time sleeping. I choose to spend my time sleeping and I’m glad that I live in a country where the choice to sleep is still mine to be made. Besides, patriotism aside, one should always protect and practice ones skills. Skill – singular.

I’d like to think of myself as a marginally talented girl, some might even say smart. I survived the communism that is primary school in Malaysia, I arrived in Australia a lost little immigrant girl only to totally kick the Aussie kids asses because I could multiply fasterer and betterer, I even skipped a grade because I had coke-bottle glasses so I must be insanely clever, I did too well in high school (that is a-whole-nother story) and am now successfully working in a bustling industry, growing at the rate of twitter despite the shaky economy.

But I don’t really think I’m good at anything. Like really good, if you know what I mean? Most people have their talents, something they can be proud of at dinner parties, but I don’t. In fact more often than not I feel pretty mediocre. So when it came up in conversation that I have an uncanny ability to sleep (and by sleep I mean a deep, snoring, restful slumber) anywhere (and by anywhere I mean in the car, on the plane, in the shower, on the driveway ~ all true stories!) while others suffer insomnia when they so much as have to travel (god forbid they have to sleep on a less-than-NASA-approved-memory-foam mattress), I realised I was on to something. I’m really good at sleeping.

And then I realised that the glass is abso-frickin-lutely half full when it occurred to me that not only am I good at sleeping, I enjoy it. I mean, how much would it suck to be the absolute beez neez at running 50 mile marathons? So I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth (whatever that really means). I’m taking my skill. And honing it in into a lethal weapon. Well.  Maybe I’ll just continue being really good at it.

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A couple of hours later, fresh from my nap (and those who didn’t nap are now cranky bunnies), I bustled around the kitchen whipping up a lazy dinner, as per the theme of the day. Usings bits of left over this-and-that, and being quite indecisive about whether to cook basil chicken or chicken with cashew nuts, basil chicken with cashew nuts was born. Bon appétit!