On the one hand, writing gives structure and meaning. When I go to bed on a Friday night, I can’t wait to have two whole days when I can write to my heart’s content. I’m a ‘planner’, so I know what I’ll be writing about and I’ll usually have written a bit in my writing journal about what I want the next scene to do. I like having something to head for, so when people ask me ‘did you have a nice weekend’ I generally say ‘yes, it was fantastic, I got another blah words done’.
On the other hand, I miss being able to have a whole day to just read a book without feeling guilty that I’m not working. That would be nice. I vaguely remember life being like that, but really, it’s so long ago that I can’t tell if it really was or if I’m idealising things.