Monday, January 18, 2010

How to REALLY Relax

This was a very relaxing weekend.  My mother-in-law stayed with us for a couple of days; my mother joined us for lunch on Saturday and dinner, Sunday.  With the exception of Christine, everyone was here.  I had meals to cook and laundry to do; I washed my truck on Friday and got some writing done on Saturday.  The house is, relatively, clean and the dogs will be going for their walk shortly.  I spent time visiting with my family, enjoying some great meals, and even got to spend a couple of hours of "quality time" with my husband.  I feel a sense of accomplishment -- something that is very important to me.

That's where "lazy weekends" come in.  I know I really need to work on my priorities; I need to get less hung up on what I do or what I manage to complete.  I know this because lazy weekends stress me out.  Watching movie after movie or sitting for hours on end, leaves me with a sense of self-loathing and sloth.  It does not rejuvenate me like crossing things off my "To-Do" list does.  I wake up from my lethargy feeling as if the things I should have been doing are looming over me, waiting to be accomplished before I even begin the things that are on my agenda for the day.  In "Judi-World,"  relaxing is being able to puff out my chest, pat myself of the back, and still keep my sanity.  Not a very flattering picture.

When I try to see my home from an outsider's point of view, it doesn't look so bad; I know I can afford 24 hours of inactivity, but inwardly I yearn for perfection.  I tell myself that if I can "just get these things done, I can sit and enjoy myself."  I crave the thrill of sitting in a spotless, fresh home, "Better Homes and Gardens" style, and knowing that my work is done and I have "all the time in the world to just relax".  I know the important things in life cannot be measured by the amount of Clorox wipes I use or whether I have the ingredients for Osso Bucco.  I know the pressure I put on myself is not only uncalled-for, but ridiculous. 

I have wondered whether this compulsion stems from my upbringing -- should I blame my mother?  or is it years of private school -- being taught to work before play?  Perhaps I can attribute it to some genetic strain that causes unnecessary neurosis when windows are streaked.  Or, maybe I can just add feeding pigeons in the park or sitting quietly by a waterfall to my "To-Do" list!   
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