I wonder, sometimes, about my work attitude. I am like many people on Sundays who complain that they donít want to go to work on Monday. And then I go to work on Monday and get caught up in the work and start enjoying the accomplishing of tasks. Friday arrives, and I think, yes, I will write and work my way toward being a great American novelist. I may do some writing, but I tend to get caught up in doing errands and whatever social things Iíve got going on for the stretch of two days.

I think on Sunday, where has my time gone? If only I could write all day Monday, that would be ideal. I think, I do not want to go to work, and the cycle starts all over again.

I find that either I have to be my good-girl worker self that does what she is supposed to do, something I am fine with as long as I get caught up in trying to accomplish my work duties. But as soon as I let my inner squall, the one I try to ignore and push away, come up into where I can feel it in my mind, I start to ache. I realize I am being who I am not, and then I wonder who I am if my outlines are colored all wrong. I feel starved trying to shift from being who society tells me to be to what is tapped down from the fear of risk and losing and being too poor to pay bills. In the process, I feel my squall become sharper, more resistant to my ignorance as it tells me yes, you can. There is the Serenity Prayer. And hope. And what if. There is yes, there is being real. Chance it.

Oh, I need that push.