People define rest in distinct but essentially similar ways.

Monday of last week was the beginning of what we call Ezumike in Igbo Language. It was the day the mid-term break began for me.

On other Mondays, I would get up early, and whilst getting ready, wonder why I’m not allowed to sleep for, at the very least, another hour. On the day preceding the Monday of my Ezumike, I avoided social media, in order to sleep early.

It’s important to have slept early the day before, because is it really rest if you’re recovering from a stressful day?( it probably is). Monday of last week, for me, was not about recovery, rather it was about rejuvenating. Rekindling. Reigniting.

I woke up and took the Novelist advise: Write first thing in the morning. It was bliss. Your mind is as clear as it can be, it’s not eerily silent like it would be when you’re writing at night, but it’s not too noisy that it would impale your work. The novelty of that hour is that it allows you to drill that creative juice for as long as possible. Your writing mojo is in its full swing. Your body isn’t tired, it’s ready to stretch as much as possible, go at lengths that would make even you, its owner, marvel. Your soul is able to satisfy its longing, because what more will satisfy the soul of an artist, other than finishing up an essay that has taken too long? Seeing those characters fully bloom and become? What really is more fulfilling than seeing your work just they way you’ve imagined it, and possibly, even better? Everything is set up to work in your favour.

The curtains are drawn, high enough to let rays of the sunshine bounce off your shoulders, low enough to protect your eyes...and nakedness. Then you write. The writing really does itself, it just flows—the sentences are singing out; the imagery presents itself vividly; characters are leaping off the page, blooming and becoming; hunger gnawing at the sides of your stomach. Hunger, too, can be a very powerful driving force. Should be up there with eating an apple a day. Hunger, though can become purgatory when you decide to see a movie after your writing stint.

Are you really well rested if there’s no movie? Monday of Last Week, amongst other things, taught me that no matter how much we have, we’ll always want more; we are incapable of being satisfied. I had several movies and TV shows available, but I kept scrolling, looking for something to watch. Things that were right in my face. I eventually settled on HBO’s Girls on the Bus. It was intense and fast-paced, just the perfect choice for me. I journeyed with Sadie and the girls, bread with ákàrà sandwiched in between, and together we waddled  the not-so-smooth road of modern day journalism. Until sleep called.

Sleep is top three of God’s creations. That feeling of being here, but you’re not actually here. That act of laying down, dropping every other thing and just dozing. Just letting loose. There really are fewer things better. The best part was waking up to begin reading.

You see, sleeping to wake up and work is not the same thing as sleeping, knowing you’ve got nothing to do afterwards. On waking up, I read for about an hour and back to writing and revising it was.

Days like Monday of Last Week are always welcome. Days spent devoid of shrieking children, notes-of-lesson, marking exercise books and being the most patient person in the world. I define rest as Monday of Last Week.