Sunday, May 3, 2009

I hate it when I have such an overwhelming mountain of work to do that it intrudes on every moment of my life. It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I should be mowing my lawn or pulling up all the little, bitty trees that are trying to grow among the bushes in front of my house. I have laundry to do. I need to clean and prep my house to be painted. I have lots of loose boards on my garage and porch overhangs that should be nailed into place (or just replaced). There are lots of good books to read. Today would be a glorious afternoon to be sitting on my patio, reading a good book, and drinking a nice glass of wine (it is after 5 now).

But I can't do any of those things, at least not without feeling tremendously guilty. Because there is the work to be done. It is everywhere. It is in my head when I go to sleep. It is on my mind when I shower. When I go out to dinner on a Friday night, I can't enjoy myself for long before the nagging thoughts of just how much work I have to do reach deafening levels.

I know there is an end date on this. This case will be done and life might go back to something like normal. In just a few short weeks, I can waste an entire Saturday without feeling any guilt. But right now it feels impossible to see an end. All I see is work.

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