Sometimes I sit down to write and feel like I'm a 30-year-old woman with big thoughts that make sense, with big ideas and big words with which to express myself.
Sometimes I sit down and feel like Maggie, my sweet 3-year-old who, when she gets excited and can't spit out a coherent sentence to save her life. (It's a lot cuter when she does it.)
Sometimes I think blogging is the easiest thing I've ever sat down to do.
Sometimes I think it's all in vain.
Sometimes I get very confident, knowing that my posts are going out into the internet to be read by people who know me (and those who want to know me), shedding light on who I truly am.
Sometimes I get extremely paranoid, wondering if my family, friends, people I knew in high school, and total strangers read my writing and wonder how this crazy was ever given the chance to reproduce.
Sometimes I am the best mom in the world, following a breakfast of Cheerios with a cupcake, playing in the rain puddles, and letting the girls paint my toenails.
Sometimes I am the worst mom in the world, barely able to pay attention to what they are doing, too preoccupied with the crazy in my head.
Sometimes I feel like a million bucks; finally thin enough, with my skin starting to clear up.
Sometimes I feel like a few (million) sit-ups would be the best thing for me, that I need to put down the cupcake (and food altogether), and that I will always have the skin of a prepubescent boy.
Sometimes I know where I'm going with my life, and the possibilities seem endless.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to just hide under a rock.
Sometimes...I need to know when to stop listening to John Mayer.