I have become incredibly selfish with my weekend time, given it's really the only time I have to write and make things all on my own. Since my weeks are split between the library and the studio, where I am either making books or filling orders, I always need some time on the weekends to decompress and do some creating. I do sometimes feel guilty about being a hermit, and people can occasionally coax me out of my lair, but mostly I very much look forward to this time and guard it feircely against pesky things that seem too much like "work" (this includes things and even people I love, ie. poetry readings/events, friends, partners). I love Sundays thought, especially, since I usually sleep as late as I want, maybe even cook myself breakfast, then have the whole day to do as I please. Drink tea, read from the stack of books I never get to, listen to music, read decor and poetry blogs, watch bad movies alone so I don't feel guilty of how bad they turn out to be, nap, cook, play with the cats. There is nothing quite as glorious as a long, commitment-free span of time that is Sunday..
it's an absolute necessity..