I am back from Vienna. It was cold (very cold), beautiful, cobbled, and simultaneously the perfect place to be alone and very, very lonely. I had a fantastic time, most of the time. But, being me, I spent a lot of time trying to work out exactly how I felt each and every minute of the trip, deciding what that meant, deciding where it means I go from here.

The first day was miserable.

The airline lost my bag, gave me a form to fill out, and shrugged. "If it's still in D.C.," the pleasant but unhelpful woman said, "it will be on tomorrow's flight. Then you'll get it sometime after that. But we don't know where it is."

It was 8 a.m. San Francisco time, it was midnight. I was exhausted and without clean underwear. On top of that, it was cold. Really cold. Too-cold-to-be-outside cold. This presents a problem when the point of your trip is to walk around and look at buildings.

Jet lag makes me unhappy and lonely. And I never remember that. I never think, "Wait, you're always kind of miserable your first day anywhere. This passes, and then you're happy. Go get some schnitzel, take a nap, and wait it out." Instead I think, "What am I doing here? Why am I spending money to be unhappy in Europe instead of being comfy at home, on my couch, with my cat and the Internet?" Clearly, before setting out again, I need to tattoo a reminder to myself on my hand or something.

Next post: things perk up. Also: we spend a great deal of time analyzing exactly how we feel. Also: skeletons.

I never had trouble sleeping before my marriage fell apart. If there was one thing I was good at, it was sleeping. I could do it anywhere, in any and all conditions. I could do it all night. I could do it all morning and all afternoon, for that matter.

I never lay in bed awake, thinking, "Ok, if I fall asleep now I'll still get five hours ... if I fall asleep now I'll still get four hours." I never woke up at three a.m. exhausted, but unable to do anything but flop around on the mattress and make mental to-do lists, over and over.

Nightmares, sure — have had those forever. But your basic, run of the mill insomnia — this is relatively new. And it's killing me.

It's been about two years since a sleep-when-I-go-to-bed, sleep-through-the-night night hasn't been something noteworthy. Now I'm at the point where when I manage to sleep a whole six hours in a row, it makes my Facebook status.

It's a whole subculture, this insomnia thing. There's a weird "You can't sleep either?" bond I have with a couple of friends. Nick and I lament over IM and trade homeopathic remedies. My problem with homeopathic answers is that they work miraculously for about a month, and then stop. The wonder and beauty that was Calms Forte has, sadly, come to an end.

Jake was well on his way to a sleeping pill addiction when we split up, which scared the pants off me. There's a history of addiction in my family as well, so I'm not about to start on any kind of "real" medication. I figure, well, I'm ok with being alone again. I'm ok dating again. I'm close to being ok being in a relationship again. So I'm just going to assume that, someday, I will sleep again.

I'm sitting here eating lunch looking at a picture of Lisa Marie Presley eating lunch, in The New York Daily News. The difference between us is that someone took a picture of her eating and put it in the newspaper.

Obviously she's gained some weight, which is NEWS in celebrity land. Its such a tacky move. I hate when people make fun of weight. The Weight game has been a running theme my whole life, so I'm sensitive. I am staring at the poor girl's face noticing how extra weight distorts a woman's beauty.

Then I started thinking about these steroids I am taking this week to continue to offset the allergic reaction to the prescription drug problem I had last week... And how the pharmacist said I'd probably bloat a little and be hungry... And how I am sitting here eating like my fourth meal already today for no real reason, and how I am grateful that I will not land in The Daily News like Lisa Marie. I actually lost a few pounds, but that could revert back hourly the way these steroids are making me eat.

By the way, Lisa Marie was snapped chowing down with husband number four, Michael Lockwood. I must be busy because I never realized she went for a fourth hubby. Bet she could share a few stories with this crowd. Lisa Marie has two teenagers, Riley and Benjamin, from her ex-husband Danny Keough.

She was also married to Nicholas Cage and Michael Jackson, the latter of whom you just know she didn't have a whole lot of fun eating with. She's probably been making up for lost time. I personally think life is a lot about finding your "eating" partner.

(Photo: New York Daily News)

Once in a blue moon I take medication for spasms in my back. I don't like taking it — the pills make me sleepy and sluggish, but it certainly does get rid of the pain. I just become a zombie until it wears off.

So when I decided to take a muscle relaxer for my back a few nights ago, I prepared myself accordingly: I finished my work, did the dishes, and then dressed in comfy pajamas because I knew it was only a matter of time until I would be in dreamland.

I was in bed and half-conscious when my husband lay down to sleep. He tried snuggling with me, and I told him that I was really out of it because of the medicine and that it wouldn't be long before I would be asleep. He sighed and stared at me.... Obviously, he had come to bed with something specific in mind.

So there I was, drugged up and with a bum back, and apparently that's pretty hot to him. I now know this was a mistake, but I said, "Look, if you want to have sex go ahead, but I'm just going to lay here because I'm really out of it and my back hurts."

Yep, he did.

It was one of the most bizarre moments of our marriage. He was having sex with me, but I was essentially nothing more than a ragdoll. The whole time I was thinking to myself, "Is he seriously having sex with me right now?!" I didn't think he would take me up on the offer, but I guess it's my own fault for offering.

When he was finished with me he rolled over and went to sleep, and I cried. I haven't taken a muscle relaxer since.

This New Years', I chose to spend the transition from 2007 to 2008 alone. I felt I needed the peace, quiet, and rejuvenation time that only I know how to provide. While it is somewhat sad to say that I spend the ringing of the new year alone, I'm proud of myself for putting my needs first and doing something I enjoy.

With my boys gone for that past week, I been spent a lot of quality time with my family — enjoying their laughs, stories, and presence. I was able to relax and just taken that time out to rest. I feel as though I've been living on adrenaline for the past few months, and my body was showing the signs.

I've lost a great deal of weight, and my family is expressing their concerns at my thinness. Considering I've never been a size 2, even during my prepubescent youth, I can imagine why they're worried. I took the time during my vacation to eat well, buy quality vitamins, and take long walks in an attempt to flourish my inner spirit, and confidence.

The relaxation has done me well. I'm looking forward to only positive things in 2008. We're not on an easy path. Emotions are running rampant, and our hearts are weighted — often to an extreme. However, we are all strong, capable women who will endure and 2008 will be prosperous.

I am lying on a narrow bed, naked from the waist down. Parts of me are bald that have not been bald since I was 12. Lena, a lovely young Bulgarian woman with fantastic hair, has been poking about in my personals for the past half hour, and now I am curled on my side, holding my asscheeks open as we discuss my teaching career.

This is not a situation I expected to find myself in without, say, dinner first.

Waxing is both more and less painful than I had imagined. The bits one would think would be the most sensitive are surprisingly hardy and the waxing is relatively painless. Surprising and awkward — but not painful. The anticipation is worse than the yanking, but I can't seem to stop anticipating.

The other bit, the visible bit, the bit I really didn't want to lose much of — holy fuck, does that hurt.

I have asked for this bit to remain relatively intact, not being a fan of the prepubescent/porn star look, but when Lena asks if I like the shape, I look down to see there's merely a Charlie Chaplin-esque little mustache sitting there.

"It's nice, yes?" she asks.

Other than my silly little pubic mustache, the experience wasn't bad. It's been a day now, and everything's looking good. Startlingly bald, but good.

I don't even feel like I've given in. I read Naomi Dunne's post about women changing their appearance when they get divorced. Lots of them, she says, seem to cut their hair. I'm just hopping on that bandwagon, right? It's perfectly normal.

This weekend we'll see if that thing about the sex is true. I'll be sure to keep you posted.

Today: Alice's friends cajole.

"So, I thought of you today as I was getting waxed," my friend Jen says.

I'm in Chicago this week, visiting my college roommate, Jess. Jess, Jen, and I have been drinking steadily for three days and discussing the issues I have with being single.

"Since we were talking about your grooming questions yesterday, I asked if this place is open tomorrow. It is. I can call and make you an appointment if you want."

"I thought we had already discussed this," I say.

"You need to try it. You just feel better — cleaner. All the time," Jen says.

"Oh, yes," Jess chimes in from the kitchen, where she's mixing drinks. "You feel great."

"You're single now. You look great, you're leaving this divorce behind — do something for yourself."

"I don't know," I say. "I've always said I would never do this."

"You have to trust me," Jen says. "The most important thing is, it feels great. You'll wonder how you did without it. Second most important: the sex is amazing."

"Oh, yes," Jess agrees, bringing in the drinks. "Sex is way better. Best sex ever."

"It's just," I say, "I really like not being that high maintenance about things. I'd feel like I was capitulating."

"At the end of the day," Jen says, "some of those things we give up because we don't want to be high maintenance are actually quite worth having."

A couple of cocktails later, I let her make an appointment.

Next post: Alice allows a complete stranger, despite there being no likelihood of orgasm, free reign over her private bits.