I did something yesterday that I haven't done in, well, ... ever.
My house was void of all life forms save for me and my dog. The hubby is out of town. The son is out of town. The daughter was wherever she disappears to every day. So I grabbed my recently purchased copy of Margaret Peterson Haddix's Among the Hidden, curled up on the couch, and read the whole thing ... in one sitting. Okay, so there was a nap involved half way through the book, and the dog needed his walk, but the point is I have never ever sat down and read an an entire book in one day. Life always seems to interrupt my attempts at escaping its reality. But yesterday, I ignored life's beckoning and indulged in the not-so-guilty pleasure of getting completely and totally lost in a book. I felt like a spoiled, royal lady of luxury.
As I contemplated doing the same thing today with Nanci Turner Steveson's Swing Sideways, a stabbing pain of guilt pierced my chest as I walked by the vacuum cleaner that I pulled out of the closet several days ago. It stood upright just staring at me, judging me, arrogantly reminding me that I have responsibilities to my household. The unraveled mess of its life-giving cord lay on the floor mocking me, reminding me of the cobwebs and dust bunnies that desperately need to be eradicated.
"Do you really think you need to spend another entire day just reading?"
I'm not sure if that was my guilty conscience talking to me or if the patronizing vacuum cleaner had somehow found a voice. Regardless, I told both of them to "shut up" and stuffed the contemptuous cleaner back into the closet.
I haven't decided yet whether or not I will release the vacuum cleaner from its dark prison and force it into the dirty labor for which it was created. I'll think about it while I linger over another cup of coffee, read a few chapters of Swing Sideways, and ignore the foul things the clean dishes in the dishwasher are saying.
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