Here I am, trying to enjoy my weekend, but I’m feeling frustrated. Guilty. I’ve decided to stay home and send the guys on to Karl’s baseball tournament over an hour’s drive away. Hubby was not the least bit happy with me. I know I should have gone, but I wanted to get some house work done. Some how, that felt like a “cop-out” excuse so I can do a little writing.
Am I being selfish? Should I have gone with them?
Yes. No. Maybe.
Being a writer can be so frustrating and confusing at times. I know there are priorities in life.
Family. House. Work. Writing.
How do I choose which one is more important than the other? Is that even possible?
Lord knows that family comes first. Period. Every once in a while, though, I need to put writing to the forefront or else the guys will have a mad-hattered woman to tend to. But getting them to understand that is quite another matter. In fact, it is impossible to make them understand why I must sit and write. Just for the sake of writing.
They seem to have no concept of what that means.
Am I the only one feeling this way?