It’s Sunday afternoon. I’m hanging on for all it’s worth. Know that feeling? “Oh, no. Only a few hours left of FREEDOM! Crappity crap crap. Just a few hours left. Okay. I’m not gonna do anything I don’t have to do. I’m definitely not gonna go anywhere I don’t have to go. Because by tomorrow, my life is once again, not my own.”
Sure, I know that’s a load of crap – intellectually. But emotionally, it’s a deeply held truism that the weekend means precious, precious freedom. Oh, that weekend feeling. It’s even better when I didn’t go crazy and schedule my weekend to the teeth with events, chores and obligations. Freeeeeeeeeedom! (Can you hear Mel shouting it?) Multiply that weekend feeling of freedom by about fifty if it’s the last weekend of a vacation.
Freeeeeeeeeee – give it all you’ve got, Mel – eeeedom!
Sunday is precioso. It’s my last, defiant chance to do whatever I want. Even if what I want is sitting and ready a less-than-literary-fiction- level novel (who me?) or knitting my 15th pink hat (GOD I’m sick of pink) or just lying on the couch with my sister’s dog, watching a movie.
But I should be writing.
Urgh. There’s that voice in the back of my head. It tries again, “You should be writing.”
I start another row of pink knitting.
“You have the time RIGHT now!”, says the voice. “You SAID you wanted to write. You even have a topic on which to write. You TOLD people you’d be writing about it. You. Should. Be. Writing. Get your ass off the couch and go write.”
I go to the kitchen, grab a handful of chocolate covered almonds and return to the couch for another row of knitting.
“You’re hopeless”, says the voice.
“Shut up”, I tell it.
“You can’t have a body of work if you never create a body of work.”
“I’ll write when I get home and have nothing better to do. For now, I’m reveling in the last bit of freedom on this, my last, day of vacation”, I say.
The voice makes a face. “That’s a lame excuse.”
“I know. But it’s also Sunday. Sunday afternoon. If I don’t do it now, I won’t have another chance to do what I want for days and days.”
The voice tries again. “You have no –”
“SUNDAY!” I interrupt.
I grin and pick up my knitting.