Guilt is a wonderful thing, because it can pull you apart in two directions at once. And it's most of the reason I spent today, Labor Day, working as hard as I do on any other Monday. (Which leaves the quality of my work open to a wide range of interpretation, if you think about it.)
On this day to honor the working person, I decided I'd better act like one, since I spent the other two days of the three-day weekend mostly immobile in front of the box fan. It wasn't any cooler today, but the guilt caught up with me. Also, I have too much to do to take a day off, even if it's supposed to be a holiday. So it all kind of dovetails.
There's another edge to this rusty sword, though. Almost every weekend I spend a lot of time doing work that I should have done during the week. Then I feel guilty for not using the weekend the way it was intended. And I feel stupid about feeling guilty for not relaxing enough — especially when there's work to be done.
I can't seem to win this argument with myself. I guess the best way is to take each day as it comes and do what I need to do, or at least what I feel like doing, regardless of the psychological consequences.