Guilty As Charged

Sarah and I had one of our early-morning phone conversations today, her side accompanied by the cooing of Emilie, her always-happy baby, and me back in bed after my shower delaying the inevitable—having to get dressed and go to work. We were discussing guilt, and whether we feel guilty about everything because we’re Catholic, or if that’s just the default state of women everywhere. She figured being both female and Catholic, we have a double whammy and we’re just screwed.

But seriously, I feel guilty about EVERYTHING. My friend Adriana once referred to me when I get like this as “trying to save the world and clean your bathroom at the same time.”

I feel guilty that my house isn’t as clean as my mother’s.
I feel guilty that I can’t make everyone happy all the time.
I feel guilty that I’m always about ten steps (and 50 emails) behind where I want to be at work.
I couldn’t make it to Emilie’s christening last weekend in Massachusetts because I had been there two weekends in a row, and I’ve felt guilty about that all week.
I feel guilty (and a little weirded out) that last night I had a dream about one of my high school boyfriends.
I feel guilty that I’m a grown woman, and I had cold hot dogs for dinner one night last week .
I feel guilty that my gym membership is an expensive exercise in pretending I’m going to go.

I think part of the cause of my guilt is treating my life like a constant self-improvement project. Working on the kind of books I do, it’s not unusual for me to meet with a variety of psychics, doctors, medical intuitives, and healers. And each of them has the magic bullet of what’s going to make my life better. So this is it. I can fix everything—no more guilt!

I bought the fiber supplements so I would be less hungry and lose weight. I never remember to take them.
I learned the meditation that would heal my “closed-up” heart. I get bored doing it
I never Ask and Believe so I can Receive.
And I researched (okay, Angela researched) the right supplements to take for the pre-arthritic knees the medical intuitive said I have. I even bought them. But they smell bad.

That makes me feel guilty.

Too Funny Not to Share

My office faces 6th Ave, and I'm kitty corner to the Fox News studios. One of my friends came into my office yesterday to use my window to check out the Fox News ticker, because Jerry Fallwell had died and he "wanted to see it in the big letters."

I live in a largely Spanish-speaking neighborhood, and last night on my walk home, I saw the funniest t-shirt ever. It had a pitcher of beer on it and said "Pour, Favor." Totally made my day. On that same walk, I saw a Latino guy with a mullet wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt ('nuff said) and a clown riding a bicycle with a large live bird perched on his head and a small dog in a basket in front. It used to be a poofy white dog but now was dyed with brightly colored stripes. Mind you, this wasn't a professional clown. Just someone who likes to dress like one…