Guilt is a terrible motivator, but it works

Not that I am expecting any sympathy from anyone, but my life has been non-stop these past few weeks. Between traveling, working, and three consecutive weeks of company, I'm pooped. Tonight I was looking forward to coming home, having a drink, cooking a 26 pound turkey that has been defrosting in my refrigerator for the past two days, doing a new pilates DVD, and going to bed.

And then I remembered that it is Wednesday. And Lent. And church. And then I told The Rev. that I wasn't going to church because I wanted two hours by myself where I could have a drink, cook my 26 pound turkey, do my pilates video, and go to bed. I think I also included think and do laundry in the conversation, because I am beginning to think and speak in jagged, incoherent mumblings, and we are both running out of clothes to wear. He just sighed and said, "I'm not going to tell you what to do." He didn't help my frame of mind by having this conversation with me on his office speakerphone, with his secretary in the room. She usually has my back, but those two can be pretty tight, and she was going to be in church, especially since her kid was singing in the choir.

It was just his tone, and I knew that I didn't have crap for an excuse as to why I should skip church. Especially during Lent. Especially since I am working out of town Holy Week. Especially since I might miss Easter services. Especially when my brain is slowly turning to cottage cheese and might soon be evacuating from my ears. He knows me too well, that man. I think he knew that deep down I would do the right thing and show up, because a drink, a 26 pound bird, an exercise video, and my bed would be there when I got home. Even if it does mean that the drink will be poured ASAP, and then nothing else will get done until tomorrow.

At least he acted surprised when I showed up, and I am glad I did go. Now I need a martini. Three olives. Straight up. Where's that turkey?