Deep thoughts

I'm digging into my Monday morning coffee with a zesty spoon.
I love long weekends. However, I still get this nagging feeling that somehow, sitting here on my couch while the clock ticks past 9am, that this is wrong. I'm very American that way. I can't relax very easily.

There's a natural guilt that's incorporated into the American psyche. Even if you work hard, there's always someone who's working harder than you. So, if you take time off - even a holiday - in the back of you mind, you know that someone else is considering you pathetic and lazy.

I think for me, these feelings result from two places: my history with the Catholic church, and my own messed up sense of values.
According to the church's doctrine, you were always guilty of something - sin, sin, sin. I remember convincing myself at 8 years old, that I would surely be struck dead because of all the sin I'd racked up by just being a regular kid (and possibly because of writing graffiti in pencil about Sherri Haywood on the bathroom doors at school).

Couple that fear with growing up in my house where I was always satirically questioned.

"Why are you so happy?!"

"Why are you eating again?!?!"

"Why are you always so down?!"

"Why are you so sensitive?!?"

My emotions and actions could never right the off-kilter balance of the household never mind the whims of "Our Lord and Savior."

Now, here, blessed with an entire day of free time, I'm fighting off the demons of the past that accuse me of excessive joy, gluttony, and sensitivity - and just committing to being myself. To me being me - with out the judgment. Without the guilt.