Crippling Sunny-Day Guilt

I have had a ridiculously busy couple of weeks. Some of the highlights: seeing Puppetry of the Penis (where my bare legs were molested by balls-between-butt-cheeks - the “Bulldog” pose. I died).
From ballsacs to ballet on Friday! Omg, how have I never seen a ballet before? Loved the Fall for Dance festival, thanks Laura! Then there was a mini-Muhlenberg reunion Saturday night. Twas wonderful seeing some old college buddies.
Living my life yo’s!

While I could totes No Dankes having a strange man’s balls on my legs, how it made me break out in a sticky sweat, turn the color of a boiled beet, how I cry-laughed as the whole theater looked on in hysterics, that’s not what this entry is about.

It’s about how I was so exhausted, so utterly spent after such a long week, SUCH a long night, that I didn’t spend any time outside yesterday. And the all-encompassing guilt that I experienced as a result.

I stayed out late Saturday night. Very, very, very late. Obviously that translated to sleeping in on Sunday. Very, very in.
 
I opened my eyes around 2:00pm and bolted upright. 

Of course this made me very upset. I was furious with myself. But I couldn’t for the life of me do anything about it. I was not in a proactive mood at all. I couldn’t go spectate as Kelly and Dana played flag football. Couldn’t go read in Washington Square Park. Couldn’t even go out and get coffee. I could barely make it out of bed to pop a few Advil.

And I was pissed at myself! Furious! I spent the better part of my lazy afternoon neck-deep in guilt. Ugh!

Seriously, the guilt that comes with staying indoors on a nice day is just crippling. It’s consuming. It’s plain outrageous.
I mean, I really should have gone outside. I should have enjoyed the glorious Indian Summer day like everyone else in NYC. 

Ha, even as I typed that last sentence, I thought - aaand this is what I’m talking about. 

Why do we have such innate guilt for not wanting to go outside when it’s nice? What is the big deal?

I mean, if I want to catch up on my 22 TV shows, I should allow myself to. If I want to stay in my pajamas and eat breakfast in bed at 4pm, I shouldn’t feel like a criminal.

There’s an ingenious blog called “Stuff White People Like” and one of the entries is titled “Making you feel bad about not going outside”. My thoughts exactly. Love it. Brill!

My self-reproach is so far-reaching that I sometimes get psyched if it rains on the weekend. Me, who haaates the rain, will cross my fingers and hope for a storm so I don’t feel guilty about spending the day indoors. Sick, I say!

Yes, it can be one of the most glorious experiences in the world to be outside on a lovely day. To luxuriate in the air, bask in the sun, people watch. But sometimes you just don’t want to.

Perhaps it’s my inherent trait of playing into the “should” factor more than the “could” factor. I bring it all upon myself. I don’t give myself a break, don’t allow the laziness to take over and rule. I’m always should-should-shoulding away!

But I’m also not the picture of mea culpa innocence. Oh no. I totally make other people feel guilty for not being outside when the weather is fair and I am ready, willing, and able to enjoy it. Totally.

I’m just a massive ball of contradictions sometimes.