under observation

 

I have the luxury of not going into the office until 1pm. That's five glorious hours of stolen time I have each day. (I know, I know, "what a bitch.") With all that time on my hands you'd think I'd at least blog on a more regular basis. But you know, I'm doing things. Lovely things like drinking tea and reading. And I run and cook almost everyday. However, maybe it often looks like I'm just being distracted by Twitter. If there was anyone there to see me, anyway. But there's not, so I'm free to flit around with a towel on my head, wearing frilly underwear until I have to face the world. It's delightful. That is, until there's someone there to witness it and ask questions like, "Is this what you do every day?!" To which I have no choice but to utter lame defenses.

M was home sick last week, and that's precisely what unfolded. I was happily drinking tea, making stuffed shells for the first time, wearing one of the aforementioned towel-headdress ensembles, when Sniffles McGee comes in and demands to know if this is my regular routine. I'm not sure who he thought I was making those stuffed shells for, but my eyebrows delivered the message that they'd be for the guy next door if he didn't rephrase his question. "I just didn't realize you had so much free time, lucky," he said (probably after sneezing on me). Well, that sucked all the joy out of it.

If this were Italy, no one would question simply enjoying the enviable number of hours I have to myself. Plus, it isn't ALL free time. I do have freelance work and my own writing, mostly when I'm not wallowing in self-doubt and questioning whether I have anything meaningful to contribute to the world. Not being accountable to anyone other than yourself is a big responsibility. And I'll tell you, one I'm not sure i'm up to on most days. Seeing that, as you might suspect, often I do a whole lot of technically non-productive things, which I do very much enjoy. At least, I think I do until there's someone there to see the tree fall. Then I suddenly feel like I need to justify myself. Though I'm not really sure why. Because let's be honest, is M really judging me for how I spend my time? Probably not. Especially considering the fact that it mostly works in his favor in the form of elaborate ("elaborate" might be pushing it) meals and a tidy apartment. 

So I'm obviously projecting. I mean, look how defensive I'm getting. It's me who feels guilty about not using her time wisely. I'm the one judging and holding myself to some warped standard rather than wholeheartedly enjoying my freedom. No one else has said a word. Of course, maybe none of you knew that I was being so frivolous with my time? Well, those of you who I haven't sent IMs to in the middle of the day containing links to things like wellthatsadorable.com. For the rest of you, this is a confession. I am frivolous with my time and I like it. But I'm going to start liking it more. Try and stop me.