No Mend For The Me-Kend

This weekend I was desperate for a me-kend...I wanted to cater to myself for a change. The thing about this me-kend was this: I needed it. I mean need. I mean I needed to not do anything I didn't want to and blow off work and research and blow off dishes and cleaning and sit on the couch watching nothing buy Animal Planet - if I wanted to. But I don't watch Animal Planet and I didn't blow off the research or the cleaning. But the me-kend started out alright. There was the movie run, picking up 'Up Close & Personal', 'The Paper' and 'Broadcast News' to satisfy my journalistic woes. I threw 'The Prize Winner of Defiance Ohio' in there for good measure. After, I stopped to see my grandmother. My grandfather's paintings somehow calmed me down. I love that his colors still sit on every single wall in that house, even though he's no longer on the couch. Every morning my Grandfather painted in his makeshift studio. Every morning. Sometimes he just let classical music fill the room and he sketched or played with colors or shapes or shades. Other mornings his fingers lined masking tape along with penciled lines on canvas. Preparation But he made sure to spend the time in his studio every morning. When the light was no longer any good, he was on the couch, a book in hand. Always a book in hand. Sitting at the table keeping an eye on CNN w/ my grandmother on Friday night - I missed my grandfather so bad I almost fell to tears. I swallowed hard, sipped Turkish coffee and left grateful when grams sent me home with cheese ravioli, fresh cucumbers and croissants wrapped around slices of pepper jack cheese. On Saturday I researched zoning laws and green building for stories I'm working on this week. But it's now Tuesday and I've done nothing with the stories. I tried reading, devouring my InStyle magazine and making it through the featured article in my New York Magazine and finishing up a chapter in one of my now 4 books I'm reading. But it doesn't feel enough. After three days of me - I was all me'd out. I had barely talked to a soul - except for the quick visit to Kim & Madison - and I didn't feel like talking to a soul. I have great friends. Fantastic friends. The kind that light up a room when they walk into it. I have a good job, it pays well and a jump start to an actual career. I have a 4.0 and an invitation into the honors program - and a schedule that would make Condoleeza Rice tired. Well, maybe not Condoleeza Rice... I have an extraordinary family. An apartment with nice furniture and photos of good times on the wall and a healthy collection of DVD's, CD's and books. And I have a talent. Or so they say. The ability to write. And really, whether or not I do it well - just the fact that I do it with ease is more than I could really have asked for. But every day I wake up feeling like a failure. And every night I go to sleep failing to have changed my perception. And I'm not quite sure where it started or how or for that matter - how to make it stop. 15 children and full time jobs didn't stop my grandfather from reading and painting - every day. I wish I had asked him how he did it. I wish I had taken notes. I wish I could figure out how to feel as though I'm actually doing something - rather than feeling as though I'm failing at everything.