Guilty

Somebody tell me it's OK that I'm siting in the kitchen at 1:05 AM with my laptop, a spoon, and a half gallon of Rocky Road ice cream eating my way to happiness.  Or depression.  Or a sugar coma so I can sleep. :)

Why do I feel guilty. . .

• For slowing down?
• For saying no to people and play dates and things to do?  
• For letting people help me?  
• For making my only real job be about healing and receiving?
• For taking a nap when there's so much to be done?
• For simply "being?"
• For eating WAY TOO MUCH Rocky Road ice cream?

I hate letting people down.  I hate letting myself down.  I hate feeling like I'm failing.  So this takes me all the way back to an earlier post about Harold and the Purple crayon.  Maybe as I rest, I'll be drawing some new pictures to step into, changing some of these old perceptions and creating new ones.  These old ones feel heavy and life sapping.  I am desperate for some life giving perceptions as I let the laundry sit there and not care about the dirty dishes and unvacuumed stairs and amount of school work my kids AREN'T doing and then take a nap instead.

The view from the window of my soul tonight as it's covered in Rocky Road and tears.