Tuesdays are supposed to be my art days. The one day of the week where I don't have to feel guilty for doing no housework. Supposedly.
And yet I find myself sweeping the floor, clearing the dishes, baking bread, wallowing in tremendous guilt that my child is reading to himself, eating 2-minute noodles, playing alone in the silence.
Perhaps I undertake these chores so as to not feel like I have achieved nothing. So I won't be greeted with the judgement of my husband; judegment merely perceived or actual? I don't know.
Perhaps I'm too hard on myself. Is it ok to just sit and ponder away an entire day? For the sake of art?
Is an artists life so self indulgent that it should come with it's own serving of guilt on the side? Or is guilt just a woman thing?
Is an artists life so self indulgent that it should come with it's own serving of guilt on the side? Or is guilt just a woman thing?
