As I wrote awhile back, days of rest are necessary. I believe pretty strongly in taking one per week, and commenter David (newmaldon) recently gave me a link to a guest post on Chip MacGregor's blog that reinforced that thought beautifully.
But I'm lately finding rest days a challenge. The problem comes on a Sunday afternoon, when I'm supposed to find something to do with myself. If a book has my attention, great. Sometimes Lou and I make it a home-date night, with a nice dinner and a movie or Scrabble; also great. But time to myself almost always means turning to the internet or writing, both of which I consider--to some extent--work. [The internet qualifies as work because participating in the great online conversation is, for an introvert and obsessive self-editor, something that requires a fair amount of effort.]
The writing side of my mind doesn't stop on Sundays, anyway. Creative process has no sense of reverence; it'll hit at church, right in the middle of the Eucharistic prayer if it gets the chance. It's also happy to really get going at 10 PM, making it ever so likely to drive away sleep. Hey, I'm not complaining--at least it comes to me. It's just ... like one of those people who, with the best intentions, always seem to call or arrive at an awkward time.
There's not much to be done about that (at least, I haven't come up with anything yet.) As for Sunday afternoons, maybe I just need to pull out my guitar more often. Somehow that hardly ever feels like work.
Most of you who come by this blog regularly are writers or artists/photographers or parents or otherwise busy people for whom "a day off" doesn't necessarily mean rest and relaxation. If you have thoughts on what making time to rest means for you, I'd love to hear them. :)