The Pressures of a Sabbatical!

This is really my second sabbatical in 7 years. But I am not sure I do this right.
My sabbaticals usually begin after I finish my projects with the employer and end with unbearable anxiety about my diminishing bank balances!
This time though, I think, or at least I like to believe that I am better prepared to take this sabbatical monster head on.
See, I've been saving, I've been training myself to shop less, to eat healthier and to be more self assured (than these recruitment consultants think you are). But perhaps on those HR creatures another blog post is warranted.
And so, the only thing that stands between my leisurely and in-search-of-self-actualisation sabbatical are a bunch of extremely focused, hard working and over achieving loved ones. And my parents live right across the street.

This is how my fist day of unemployment was spent- reading (mostly fiction that my last project severely deprived me of) and some chores (purely survival based). But as evening drew closer, I had to leaf through the websites of various illustrious universities and journals to answer dear madre's question "what have you been doing with the day today"? And so when that question was asked I had to quickly make a two minute PPT to mother about how she didn't educate her only child to spend a day in her boxers reading paperbacks and watching Craig Ferguson on YouTube.
Meanwhile, the partner, being a fitness freak, checks my progress on the athletic lines. Another set of concocted details were prepared, based purely on my virtual athleticism, on the most suitable Gyms in the locality. How would he care that my body of 30 years would probably go on strike if I were to launch it into hectic unnecessary trauma?  Besides, how do you fit in the gym in between book, meals, snooze and vapid FaceBooking?

And so, for the want of anything else to do, I begin my first proper blog. These are the kinds of activities my body and brain seem to like. Mild, leisurely, can be pursued whilst sipping a juice or scoffing a sandwich. Perhaps also to show this over achieving trio of my mum, dad and partner that I did do something I can show! Though, why some would want to read this is completely beyond me. But knowing the active souls I live with, they might just. (Bugger. I will actually have to find illustrious journals and universities and gyms in the event).

Day two was even worse- why didn't you go visit the dentist yet? Did you at least get an appointment? When are you going to get an ultrasound? (OBGYN issues to top)
How do you tell these people that it is rude to remind a 30 year old that her teeth are in the same shape as her ovaries-dodgy. I don't keep telling my partner that his hair's greying as he sleeps, or my mum that her "private emails" to her friends always have random people in cc?! Give a girl some days to be slothful you folks.

My father of course, is quite another matter. He sees every moment at home ( by anyone), a moment wasted. He has already made offers to me to work for his business and thrown in some remuneration figures! And every evening so far, he's threatening to take me to the government nursery or the gadget and such stores to buy whatever's stopped working at home. I mean, daddy, another couple of days without the plants won't kill my living room.

It is therefore not a surprise that by 6 pm every evening, I feel like I really should just go right back to  work and continue to hate it. Self actualisation never happened to those who had cavaties to tend to, and plants to buy and laundry to do and Craig Ferguson to watch.....