After Hurricane Katrina blew my life apart, but gave me the opportunity to escape my prison sentence with Stinky, I was in what some people call a bit of a state of shock. I was traumatized. Yep, that storm blew my house, my children's school, and my office away, and Stinky had knocked me clean stupid.

So, though it's been two and a half years, sometimes I long for those first months (okay, it was actually a year) of being so confused and unhappy and scared that I couldn't hold down a full time job and was afraid to really do anything more than get up, get the kids to school, and brush my teeth.

That's when I found my new friends: Crown Royal and Mimosa. Mmmm. I had no money, but I actually bought the complete collection of all six seasons of Sex In the City and after the kids were in school, I would come home and I would put in the next DVD open a bottle of Frexinet Brut or Extra Dry, mix a mimosa and sit down to plunge into complete oblivion watching four hip chicks living their lives in the Big Apple.

Ahhh. Those were the days. By noon, the champagne was gone along with a king sized bar of Hershey's dark chocolate, I would lay down and sleep for two hours, awake refreshed, brush my teeth, again, and go get the kids.

Then after baths and homework and giggles and stories of their day, and once they were both snuggled in for the night, I would shower, slip into my bed and put in the next DVD and hit play. I would also begin drinking the four Crown Royal highballs that would lull me into a deep sleep, so deep that I would not have the nightmares that had plagued me the first few weeks after my departure from the coast of Mississippi.

I am excited by the thought of life on the other side: 9-5 jobs, no homework, time for a social life.

A social life? Really? The horror...

This unnerves me more than just a little, for it has been a long time since I have had one of these — a real one. For the last four years, my life has revolved around school. My friends were people I met through school, and most of what I talked about — you guessed it — school.

I find myself thinking about the time immediately after leaving the military - another large part of my life, which, much like college, has a way of defining who you think you are. When it's all said and done, and you have to assimilate back into mainstream culture, it is quite possible to feel a bit gun-shy.

Already being a bit socially awkward (I'm a geek, what can I say? We're all awkward), this is something that I am more than a bit concerned with. Will I be able to become a social chameleon, rolling with the punches and make the transition with ease?

Or will I live in a tiny universe, filled with books, empty Cheetos bags, and overgrown houseplants? Okay, so that may be overstating things a bit, but the fear — and the possibility is still there. I can't say for sure what things are going to look like, but I am sure it will make for some interesting times.

Funny thing about not having time to think about the rest of your life: that's usually when you can't keep those thoughts from invading your brain.

I am sitting in my peapod of an apartment, trying feverishly to finish all of my assignments, and feeling quite giddy about the fact that next weekend seems rather non-committal. By the end of the week, the thesis will be no more, and there will be just one more paper and two finals to go.

For the most part, this week is all that stands between me and guilt-free napping and cable television. Problem is, my ADD won't let me focus on getting my work done.

My mind is plagued with thoughts of life on the other side. What does one do with gratuitous amount of free time? I know for a fact that I don't handle copious amounts of unscheduled time well. Most of the silly things I have done in life have come because I had more free time than I knew what to do with.

Ironically, I can't wait to see what kind of trouble I can get myself into. Humans make mistakes, after all, and this school business has left me with very little time to be human. I am ready for a change of pace...

Marriage is wonderful when it works. Everyone is looking for a happily ever after.

But marriage takes energy, and these days average couples are working harder than ever to keep a marriage together, so you can imagine the challenge for a couple in the limelight, like Star Jones and Al Reynolds.

Someone told me they overheard Star on a plane a couple months ago saying that she and her husband had not even been in the same city over the last few months.

Can't blame the airlines for this long a layover.

For reasons only Star and Al know, one or more things along the way changed up their original gameplan for their version of..."happily ever after." I don't think she had that big wedding with the intention of getting divorced...getting a few freebies, maybe.

No one has a wedding with the intention of getting divorced. No one should judge, though people due to human nature cannot help themselves. Like Star said, "The dissolution of a marriage is a difficult time in anyone's life that requires privacy with one's thoughts."

Regardless of who files for divorce, it's painful and awkward for everyone involved.

There will be some other version of "happily ever after" for her and for him.

Though it's hard to imagine at the time, usually events that force change often bring you to a stronger better place — sometimes just a stronger arm — but hey, that also works.

Everyone who goes through divorce has another version of "happily ever after" within their reach.

In this very sensitive-to-spaying-and-neutering world and in view of all the unwanted dogs and cats in the world, I must beg your forgiveness - I let my cat get pregnant. She wasn't supposed to be in heat, but I shouldn't have let her out. But I did and she is.

But, oh, the sweetness of it all. It is an indulgence that I have let myself experience. In my life of so many losses, I have allowed my cat to grow new lives inside her belly. I have allowed myself to put my hands on her stomach and feel the growing life inside and then as the weeks passed to feel those lives move and kick. One, two, three ... I think I count four.

I have allowed myself to leave work early a few days ago because I sensed that her time was near, and was glad to know I was right as I lifted the tiny lives from my bed (yes, my bed) and the floor and moved them to the box I had carefully prepared for this event. And I gave in to the luxury of the celebration of life and called my best friend to say, "they're here -- they've been born."

And I was delighted when she, too, left her job and rushed to see the new lives that had come to live on Kenneth Avenue with my children and a dog named Brittney, a now mother cat and some sea monkeys.

I sterilized the knife and cut their cords and their birth sacks and helped mama cat adjust as this was a new world for her too, and I smiled as her instincts took over and she cleaned and nursed and settled into her new role as a mother.

They sleep by my bed in their box with a heating pad underneath to keep them extra warm, and I hear the mother gently coo and encourage her new babies to eat and cuddle and finally sleep. I hear her purr. I hear the tiniest of mews coming from the so-very-small mouths of the six new lives that have come into our world.

Since I'm always writing about the struggles and heartbreak of Moving Beyond Divorce, this morning I'm writing about breakfast instead.

Breakfast with two of my best gal friends.

Picture this: I'm sitting at the bar that is open to the kitchen. Almost immediately, if not before, Lori is across from me making a drink of orange juice and wine. (We were out of champagne and we live in a blue law state — you know, you get "blue" 'cause you can't buy liquor or wine on Sunday.)

She adds something to sweeten the drinks, throws in a couple of fresh strawberries, and we're set.

Kim, the chef extraordinaire, is doing a whole lot of chopping. Looks like fresh spinach, and I see some baby yellow squash, some red and yellow peppers. And there are some diced potatoes and something I honestly do not recognize.

The greens and vegetables have water beads on them, as Kim has just carefully and gently rinsed the produce she bought just this morning from the market. And I know that because she called me from the checkout counter while I was driving into Nashville, where she and Lori live.

The smells are beginning to lift into the air and across the bar. I smell it all, and it smells like heaven.

The wine did its job, and we have moved onto Grey Goose. It's Sunday and it's finally past noon, so we decide to take it up a notch.

Then the food is served. Kim does it all, the shopping, the chopping, the cooking, and the serving. She puts the food on our plates with careful balance. She makes certain we each have more than enough, and then she puts our plates on the bar.

She serves us.

Women will serve each other. Men seldom do, if ever. My guess is that most of you reading this were not served by your exes.

Last night I went to one of the now recurring High School girlfriend gatherings at PF Chang's up in Stamford, Ct.

Remember what they said about Catholic HS girls? Well they were right — only we are much worse now. Only kidding — not really — half-kidding...geez we love to laugh.

Anyway, there's a pretty diverse group: Some married forever, with kids without kids, some divorced, and some have just stayed solo. Oh yeah, and one honorary husband who can't get enough of us. The group grows every time we convince someone through a chain of frenzied emails to locate someone from our past and convince them they are missing out on all the fun.

For years, when I was struggling as a single mom gone awry, I wouldn't show up. Then one day I was glad I did, and the unconditional girlfriend friendship convinced me to do it again and again.

Last night, one of the "lifelong solo" girls, having recently launched Mr. Wrong, announced she bought herself a boat. I suggested we give her a "boat shower". Solo gals get ripped off. They never get the payback benefit of all those bridal and baby showers they've paid into.

So it's done. The "boat shower" is in the works. We're just waiting for her to register at some marine shop so we don't all show up with the same little dinghys.

Hi guys,

I am on the way to Rhode Island. The love for First Wives World and all that we represent continues. We got a call last week from a company which produces features that air on hundreds of TV stations wanting to do a story. So, today is the day and I am on my way.

It's a one day trip and I have five jackets, six hair contraptions, four pairs of shoes, an arsenal of make up, my computer, phone and a plethora of plugs and chargers. This is one of those days it might have been nice to have had a "better half" who might have convinced me I didn't need half this stuff.

But then again, the "better half" might have wanted to come along and drive, and if there's one thing I don't miss it's begging someone to make a pit stop or two... or three... or four...

Love,

Debbie Nigro, First Wives World's Chief Executive Girlfriend

The week has flown by, and I feel as though I have very little to show for it. Coursework keeps piling up, no matter how much I try to get through. Life demands that I try to have one, and all the while, there's always that "one more thing" that I am supposed to have done before the end of the day.

Ain't life grand?

Mostly, I just want to crawl into a hole and wait for the madness to pass. Knowing that this is not an option, I just have to keep going — though sometimes it seems to be at a snail's pace, while other times, I don't seem to be moving forward at all. Fatigue, insanity, grief, and fear wreak havoc on my senses on a regular basis, while I plow through life like the hard-charging hellion everyone knows me to be.

Sometimes I wish there were more people who actually knew more about me — they would know that I barely have time for my own bullshit, let alone theirs and mine too. They would know that while I do believe that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that this does not mean I will allow them to submit my work as theirs. They would know that my saying "no" does not mean "maybe."

These are the days where I just need to excommunicate myself from the masses, but the masses won't let me.

I swear when this is all over, I am going to sleep for a week — with the ringer off.

Well, of course it does. Freedom comes with loneliness and fear. It comes with self doubt and trepidation. Freedom comes with a blank canvas that stares at you saying, when you are going to finally pick up that paint brush little lady?

But it is worth it. Leaving your partner, disconnecting from the person you shared three, 10, 20, 30 years with is painful, but it's the first step toward freedom.

He left you, you left him, you both left each other — it doesn't matter. Divorce hurts. It cuts to the very core of who you are and who you were. No matter whose decision it was, you find yourself in a new existence, but instead of feeling excited and happy, you find yourself lonely and regretful. You may even fantasize about the possibility of getting back with him because he and that marriage were a "known". You are now faced with the unknown.

It's hard. But rest assured, God wants you to be happy.

But, everything you've been taught, everything you read — it all points to the husband and wife and family scenario. You now feel that you've abandoned your beliefs, failed at your marriage, lost what mattered most.

But, you are wrong. I personally wrestled with the whole "I took a vow, I promised forever, I swore to never leave," yet I did. You could say, well he beat you, Wanda, of course you had to leave. But many women take their beatings and remain "a good wife." So, was I selfish? Was it my fault he hit me? After all I am opinionated. I am mouthy. I am feisty and somewhat self centered. I do like to do what I want to do. So, am I somehow to blame for all of this?

Self doubt and regret — they're killers. But, they will pass. You have to trust me on this. I made it through. Today, I don't have any regret. I don't have any loneliness either, as remarkable as that may sound. I've been busy painting, you know.