One of the many elements firing my girlcrush on Susie Bright (writer, sexpert, mother) is that she gives us air holes in our little jars of conventionality — that fabulous concept that keeps our bad little dogs chained but often ruins spontaneity.

Since I delayed childbearing and marriage until well into my 30s, I had much time to sow my wild oats and dance until 3 and spend too much money on travel and shoes and graduate school. I had time to date and sleep with the wrong men, drink too much and too often, and spend afternoons on my sunny porch discussing gender politics with my galpals.

Even though I still have ways to rebel that are within the realm of reasonable and responsible, I still feel like a bee in a jar and miss that other life.

Now I’m going to share a poem I call Soul Cage... (read to the music of somewhere over the rainbow)

HA! Wouldn’t that be just awful?? Isn’t there a Sting album by that name? Poor Sting. Ah… how fragile we are. So true so true.

Other than watching porn and occasionally imbibing *before* I begin to prepare dinner (the horror), I’m not creatively gifted at finding other means to express this need to rebel. As a mother of 3 and living in a small town, I’m hesitant to parade downtown in my S&M dress and pink boa…

But you never know.