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 former nonprofit exec
living in a small town, I’m hesitant to parade downtown in my S&M dress and
But you never know.