Guilt on Easter Sunday

1. Slept in this morning til 6:00 a.m.
2. Didn't have to check the cows because Mark was out most of the night.
3. Turned on the dishwasher.
4. Set out Easter candy for the kids.
5. Turned on my computer to discover that my MSN homepage has disappeared.

It figures. The first thing that comes to mind is that I'm being punished for spending two fun mornings working on my blog. So now, with real work bearing down on me, I have to make a choice - I can either keep working on the blog or create a new home page. Time restraints are such that I can only work on one until life pulls me away. And of course, while I am working on this, my novel sits waiting.

I find it rather ironic that I am discussing this on Easter Sunday morning. Like I am being punished for the sin of relaxation. When did it become mandatory that every moment of our day be productive or considered a waste?

Thinking back, I have always been like this. Writing has always been my passion but also the source of guilt. I can remember during class at school, pulling out my scribbler filled with writing and sneaking in a few paragraphs between Math and Science. I even remember writing through the classes I found easy, my stories coming through the pen onto the page while one ear was listening to the teacher going on about geography, health or what should be done with a verb. The teachers finally gave up trying to catch me not paying attention. I remember answering their impromptu questions without even looking up from my page.

After school and on weekends there were chores to do. All I wanted to do was write (and read), but tidying my room, delivering newspapers and helping around the house were tasks my mother nagged me into doing instead. Growing up in a home where a strong work ethic was the most important quality a person could have, I always felt lazy. I remember feeling this way from Grade 4 straight through High School. I stopped writing when I became distracted by boys, began socializing and got a part-time job.

Writing has always been the generator of guilt in my life and it is something that I've never outgrown. I imagine a lot of writers must feel the same way.

Excuse me now while I try to squeeze in an hour of work on my novel. The kids are still asleep and Mark has gone out to do the chores. The desktop publishing job that should have been finished on Friday will have to wait until this afternoon. Yes, of course I feel guilty that the bed is not yet made, the floors need vacuuming, the little dog would love to go for a walk and I have not exercised in over two weeks. Yesterday's laundry still waits unfolded. The light is perfect outside right now and I really should go out and take a few pictures . . .

The Dishwasher: Spent the first 24 years of my marriage without one. Next to my computer, it is now my most valuable writing tool.