Just Another Brick In The Wall

If there is a downside to having a blog of one's own it is that it can be just one more thing to feel guilty about. My male readers can stop reading at this point because I can't think of one of them who ever has been afflicted by feelings of guilt. (Even when one could make a damn convincing argument that they should be.) Come to think of it, my sister can stop reading, too.

I try to emulate these people, I really do. For the most part, guilt is a waste of time. It's like a rocking horse . . . no matter how much energy you exert, or how intense the ride, it's not going to get you anywhere. (Unless, you know, you're rocking at the top of a flight of stairs or something. In which case you could get to the bottom of the flight if you rocked hard enough. But you and the horse would probably be seperated along the way. And you'd still feel guilty.)

Women excel at guilt. (With the notable exception of my amazingly centered and self-actualized sister. And my friend Christie. And probably Denise. Maybe Annie... okay, clearly there are a few exceptions.) But most of us estrogen-based life forms can serve up guilt with a side of grits and cheese at 4 a.m. While sponge-painting the bedroom. On rollerblades. And whatever trips we may try to lay on others pale in comparison to the ones we give ourselves. Didn't go to the gym? Guilty. Ate too much Thanksgiving Day? Guilty. Can't be two places at one time? Guilty. Didn't make a blog entry today? Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

The guilt never stops here IDW, in spite of all the good examples I have to work with. I try, I really try. But I haven't conquered it yet. And boy do I feel guilty about that.