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.

Ah, student life.

That day was a continuation of last weekend as far as life in the super-fast lane is concerned. Once again, I played it fast and loose with my blood sugar, going much too long between meals. If my mom reads this she will have my hide when she visits next month, but the day had me shuffling too many things that too many people place way too much emphasis on. I'm sure there is a line of unsatisfied customers somewhere. I can't be concerned with that.

All in all, I am happy with the way things turned out. I did not let other people stress me out, I prioritized the way I thought necessary, and bonus — everything got done.  Now, if I can manage to keep down the dinner I waited too long to eat, it will truly be a banner day.

The moral of the story: Do the things you deem most necessary first, make sure you understand the consequences of all your actions, and most importantly, pack some protein in your bag for those days you spend on the go.

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.

Just when you start feeling sorry for yourself because you barely have enough money to pay rent and both kids need new clothes and you're wondering how in the heck you're going to find a home for six new kittens, life smacks you right upside the head.

My friend's granddaughter died Wednesday. She was seven months old. SIDS, perhaps. The autopsy report has not been released.

Life: It's a fragile, fleeting, passing thing.

In the midst of frustration, because my 11- and 12-year-old cannot go one day without quarreling over something, I have to stop and realize how blessed I am to have two healthy children who are able to quarrel. When I want to complain because I've been hacking like a smoker (I don't smoke) because of all the Middle Tennessee pollen that is in every single breath I take, I have to stop and be grateful that I am able to breathe, able to cough, able to have itchy, swelling eyes and a runny nose.

Many years ago when I finally learned that life is all the good and all the bad rolled into one, I felt that I had discovered the secret. If I could look at all things that happen to me and allow them to happen without my feeling cursed, singled out, plotted upon, then I would be able to accept whatever happened to me and roll with it. But, losing a child — I don't know how a mother recovers from that loss. As tough and strong as I like to think I am, would I be able to move forward with life if my son or daughter died?

We've all heard about the seven most difficult things we can face in life: Divorce, job change or loss, relocation, marriage, pregnancy, illness or death, but we don't all have to face these.

"You look tired."

This was how a conversation with one of my colleagues, Dominic, began earlier in the week. Rightfully so, as sleep is a luxury I cannot afford these days. I don't know how anyone else feels when someone makes a comment such as this, but I was relieved and happy. As a matter of fact, I told Dominic that this was the nicest thing he could have said to me.

I know this may sound odd, since "tired" can — and in my case, does — mean that I am looking a bit haggard, and that the bags underneath my eyes could be used for a two week vacation in the Rockies in January. So why did I take this as a compliment? Simple. It means that there are people that take the time to assess other people's conditions.

It means that some people do in fact realize that I am not Superman, and that I get fatigued. It means that there are people that realize that I am human, and am susceptible to the same flaws as the rest of the population — if you can even call fatigue a flaw. (I don't.)

Of course, the fact that Dominic said this does not come as a shock, as he is one of the more sympathetic people I have met since moving to NYC.

I am just happy anyone noticed at all.

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 had a pretty bad case of the so-called baby blues after my son was born. My daughter wasn't even 2 years old yet, my husband's work schedule had him going out of town quite a bit, and I didn't get much help at all, since both our families live in other states. From what I've heard, my mom dealt with post-partum depression to the point where she felt suicidal, so I knew that when I started to have the feelings of depression it was no joke. I figured I better tell my husband and we could figure out a solution together.

"I think I have some post-partum depression," I told him.

"Oh yeah?" he asked.

I didn't think he was getting it, so I let him in on an embarrassing fact. "Sometimes I fantasize about getting into a car accident just so I can spend some time in a hospital recovering. Maybe then I could get some rest and a little time to myself, as weird as that may sound."

He gave me a concerned look, and we made an appointment with my doctor. She agreed that I had some PPD and we decided together that I would combat it with exercise and wait it out to see if my hormones would stabilize.

The thing is this: After I intimated to my husband that I was so desperate for some time off from the kids that I was hoping for a debilitating injury, he still didn't step up any efforts to help me. I still got up every time the baby cried in the middle of the night. I still woke up every morning with the kids. My husband didn't offer to take the kids so I could get a nap once in a while. He never jumped in and took over some chores. In other words, the only thing that changed was that I had an actual diagnosis.

I eventually bounced back from my depression, but my marriage took a huge hit. It really opened my eyes as to what my husband assumed my role was, as well as his. I felt more alone during that time of my life than any other, and it shouldn't have been that way.

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.