It's late and I shouldn't be blogging

Kelly's at work and the house has been quiet since 8 o'clock. I should have gone to bed, but instead I watched Mad Men, ate good n' plenties, some m & m's and some other weird yet tasty candy bar thing. Then I promised myself to start eating better tomorrow. Then I started watching the critically panned Jersey Girl with Bennifer and I texted Kelly asking him how sad would he really be if I kicked the bucket. He didn't respond right away. In fact, I think it was hours later and with a phone call saying that he didn't have a good reason why he didn't call earlier, but holy cow, they've got a great selection of candies in the vending machine. "So what about my text?" I asked him. "What did you ask me?" he said. Good thing he is too far away for me to kick him, I thought. I explained that I wanted to know exactly how sad he would be if I died giving birth. He said he'd be really really sad but should he spend 2 dollars on a new candy that promises to be sweet and spicy at the same time? I told him to do it if he took the money out of his budget. I was not impressed with his answer. He promised me love and we bade farewell.

So now I'm on the computer reflecting on my life. I downloaded some new music, checked out some art work I want to buy and thought about my neglected blog. I don't feel so pizzazz-y lately. Often there are things I'd like to write and don't because, well, i feel inhibited by my own...inhibitions. I enjoy writing even with my bad grammar and my hyper-usage of the comma. I feel so inspired by other people's creative voices and it inspires me to exercise mine. I'd have to say that that's the only time I really feel like myself. I wouldn't call myself a creative person, but when I do make something new, however poorly, and whatever it may be, I begin to feel like me. It's a fleeting feeling and constantly has to be cultivated and yet doesn't get the time it deserves. For as long as I can remember I've just wanted to be free. ( I'm rambling. ) Sometimes I just want to get on my pink cruiser and ride with the wind in my hair and sing a song at the top of my lungs. That, my dears, sounds amazing. I want that feeling everyday and at every moment be grateful for my children and for my husband who may not answer a silly text but will write me love poems upon request.

I don't think I'm making much sense but I'm finally ready for bed and will press "publish post" before I chicken out.

click!