In between phone calls, scanning of book covers for another writer's website, site updates, and other emails, I've been writing the little story about "me'n th'cats." It's taken a while. There's a lot to tell.
Why I feel the urge to explain myself is beyond me. "Old tapes" they call it. The tapes of someone who still has the mentality of "she who worked for others" for so long that she still feels the eyes of management over her shoulders. Interesting. Particularly in light of the fact that it's been years and years since managers looked over my shoulder. My most recent position was almost completely self-directed. I chose my activities and managed them fairly well. But then, too, I was always aware that I was working for someone else and always wanted to diminish even the appearance of goofing off. Even though I wasn't. (It's a hazard when your job includes activities that are just plain fun. The graphic design elements are often observed as so much fun. I, myself, think of them sometimes as playtime.)
Must I put this writing under the category that also deals with the guilt I keep thinking I've combatted? Guilt over a purely frivolous, personally-amusing blog entry? I think so.
Why that is, I think, is because there are deadlines (as I've mentioned,) and at least one person who has been hoping I'd take a look at something for her and I have been putting her off. A friend. Perhaps I could have helped her out instead of writing about cats, for goodness sake. Let it go, Melody. Write about the cats. It's your perogative. Nobody knows your schedule but you. Nobody else guides your time management activities. You're actually a grown woman, see, in charge of when you do what.
Maybe I should have kept seeing that therapist.