Breaking rules one has set for oneself can be quite beneficial. For one thing it's relatively harmless. The only punishment is meted out by one's own conscience.

It just so happens that self-rule makers might tend to be a little harder on themselves; might have very strict consciences who maintain unreasonable curfews and who punish while admitting no such thing as extenuating circumstance.

Fortunately, mine isn't quite that bad… but it's no slouch either. So to teach it a lesson, I decided against writing last night. It was not (entirely) out of laziness, but to try to accept it for what it was. To intentionally commit a sin against the commandments of myself and ward off any guilt that comes with such a transgression.

It was quite nice.

That's not to say we should or can indulge every impulse against unappealing obligations. We can't always do nothing when we 'should' or have to be doing something, but on occasional it's a healthy and tasty snack. It's part of this balanced breakfast with milk, juice, toast and fulfilling obligations against one's will.

So in setting rules I hope to raise myself as an unspoiled child, forcing myself to follow them against my own whining at times and occasionally letting myself leave the table with Brussels sprouts still on my plate.

This is the beauty of the self-rules. Breaking them is the low-fat ice cream of the responsibility-shirking freezer aisle.

I think I will now enjoy some ice-cream.