I've always been a snoozer.
I don't dislike being awake. It's just the transitions that get me.
I also need around eight hours of sleep to be a bouncy, happy asker.
After Friday's redeye to JFK, Mr. A and I managed to get 9 hours of sleep between the two of us and then we took off to explore.
First stop: The Armory, where his brother, a dentist and painter, told us there was an annual exhibit that was not to be missed.
He was right, since to this day I can't tell you which works I most enjoyed.
The new painters from Russia, or the 1921 Surrealist drawings I'd studied and even taught undergrads about but never seen live? Or the decked out art students, or the razor-thin-nosed galleristas? I was still taking it all in when I spotted a large white couch in an area labelled "lounge."
I took a seat.
I fell asleep.
I started dreaming.
I felt a hand on me.
"Hey, you're looking pretty comfy here. Can I join you?"
I skooched over and he told me he was going to explore a different section. Was I ready to get going?
"Five more minutes?"
He waited, asked again, and I had a new request: "One more hour?"
I'm not sure what happened next, because I plunged back into my dream and when I woke up it was dark, and I was still on the couch.
I'd slept for two more hours, as thousands of people walked by admiring and inquiring about some of the world's modern masterpieces.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a security guard-- standing about 10 feet away and minding his business. Apparently, no one was bothered by my lack of decorum. Perhaps no one even noticed.
I'm a bit sad, in retrospect. I was enjoying what I was seeing. Now all I remember is the softness of the throw pillows beneath my head, the feeling of sinking into those cushions, tuning out the white noise of a thousand murmurs... but only a fraction of the show.
What are the chances that any of you readers were at The Armory that day and saw a woman sleeping on the white couches? Was it some kind of performance piece? Or was she drunk, you wondered, drugged? Who goes to a legendary art show and naps for three hours? Now you know: The Daily Asker.
PS: Mr. A photographed me, but I dare not put it up. ;)