Tuesday 9th April

I had a day to myself on Sunday, and I blew it away.  Oh, I checked my e-mails and did catch up on my one private client, so I suppose that counts for something.  But the overall feeling I had was that I had wasted my day; too much bored laying on the sofa, swapping news channels and trying to find something to shake me out of my ennui.

So, where does this come from – this feeling of guilt at doing what the vast majority of people probably aspire to.  There have been many times in the past when I have deliberately filled up my day with work to stop myself from going quietly mad.  I was brought up in a fairly strict respectable working class family where the devil made work for idle hands.  Sundays involved Sunday School and attending the service, finishing homework before lunch, then as a family we invariably went somewhere or had visitors on Sunday afternoon.

Not exactly strict Victorian work ethic, but close to it.  And I find I still need a project or I dissolve into just that sort of mood which overtook me on Sunday.

For 18 months I was between partners and far too many Sundays I allowed to slip away just like this one.  Am I so useless that I need someone to be constantly kicking my arse?  Or is it the natural rebellion when one is at last freed from that arse-kicking?

Anyway, no more.  I have resolved to not allow that to happen again.  If I am on my own I will work on the book, which I have of course neglected for far too long.  No more wasting my time.  You hear that mother?