On Thursday afternoons I go to a writing workshop in the basement of a local novelist's home. You've maybe read some books workshopped and developed in that basement, or seen the movies.

"Dangerous Writing," it's called. Dangerous because it's about going deep into places that scare you, the vulnerable places, and writing from them.

The sore spots, my teacher calls them. It's fiction writing, mostly. Characters created to explore places too hard to go alone.

He's the real deal. Along with a Pulitzer-nomination and his seemingly bottomless stores of compassion, he has a gift for intuitively guiding writers into the heart of their own hauntings.

We are all of us haunted, he says.

And he lives it. His books are brilliant and beautiful, but they aren't easy.

A couple weeks ago he was talking about how, for a long time, his boyfriends were just anyone who loved him.

I wonder how many of us do this. First fall in love with the love itself, regardless of who is loving us. Then stick around long after we should just in case there's no one else. Trade fear for love.

Because what if this is as good as it gets.

Or what if, in leaving, we are forced to see ourselves. The good, the bad, the hauntings, all of it. See who is living in our skin.

There's no hiding from yourself on the page and there's no hiding from yourself in divorce. It strips you down, exposes every place you never wanted to see.

It's dangerous business, being human.

The reward for seeing, for living circumstances that weren't supposed to be, is, hopefully, we put ourselves back together stronger and healthier.

More human and more loving.

Family. That is what holidays have traditionally been about. Father helps children celebrate Mother's Day by purchasing a card or two, flowers, a gift.

Maybe he helps your son and daughter prepare a breakfast complete with your favorite French toast, bacon, and eggs.

Today, moving beyond divorce, holidays have changed. This Mother's Day begins with getting out of bed and feeding the cat and the six little kittens now crying for their kitty food, walking the dog, making my bed, starting another load of endless laundry, and watching the weather channel. I watch the weather channel the way some people listen to the news or radio.

I turn the oven on to broil and I grab some Lenders bagels out of the fridge and split them with my fingers. I place them on my mother's 50-year-old pizza pan and slide the pan into the oven. I wait.

I open the fridge to look for my caffeine fix of sweet tea, and the pitcher is empty of anything except a single swallow. I grab my second choice, the kids' Pepsi. I turn and kick the door shut with my right foot. I pull the bagels out of the oven. I yell, "Breakfast!"

Happy Mother's Day to me.

There is no answer. I yell again, "Breakfast!"

I hear shuffling and laughter.

"Mom!"

"What?" I say. "Breakfast!" My frustration and self pity increasing.

My daughter calls me to her room. I stomp back to the hall muttering to myself about ungrateful children and my life without a spouse and no support, and then I open the bedroom door.

Her eyes wide and sparkling. My son stands beside her barely able to contain his laughter.

They pull their hands out from behind their back. She extends a large pink construction paper creation in front of me with pink paper roses glued to it. She has made a card. It is beautiful. My son has made me three Lego puppies.

I'm beginning to realize that this state of limbo just isn't going to work.

A while back I decided to just disregard the feelings I had about leaving, and to push it all aside and just go on like everything is fine. You know what? Everything isn't fine. It hasn't been fine for a long time, and it's not something that I can just decide to switch on and off.

The fact remains that something has to be done. A decision has to be made soon.

How did I figure this out? I was sitting on the couch, working on my laptop while my husband was watching TV. There was one of the Lord of the Rings movies on — I'm sure don't know which one it was because that's not really my cup of tea — and I glanced up just in time to see a scene where one of the guys returns home to his kids who leap into his arms and his wife who smiles, embraces him, and gives him a loving kiss.

It hit me like a ton of bricks: Married couples should be happy. I should want to kiss my husband when he comes home. I should smile when I see him walking toward me. I'm not saying that everything should be sunshine and roses 100% of the time, but how much longer can I wander around in the fog of "marital issues?"

When I saw that scene on the TV and had that reaction, I almost stood up and announced that I was packing my bags.

I'm trying to be practical about all this. I'm trying to give this situation as much effort as I can. I'm going to therapy. I'm trying to be a good wife. For goodness sake, we just booked a vacation for this summer!

I'm doing everything I can think of, and I have been doing it for months. I'm exhausted, and I'm starting to freak out a little.

My uncle and his girlfriend were married yesterday. They've been together for 16 plus years. I've already taken to calling his girlfriend my aunt. It's just easier that way.

I used to ask them years and years ago when they were going to get married. My uncle would always say something like, "Who needs to get married?" When the Levi disaster happened, I must admit that I started to feel the same way.

So you can only imagine my surprise when I opened up my e-mail yesterday, yes, my e-mail, to find a message from my uncle that said the following:

Faith,

Janice and I are getting married at 5 today at the house. We need you to come over and be a witness.

I thought that he was kidding so I called him. Nope, he was serious.

They were married at 5:00 p.m., in front of their house, underneath their cheery tree. It was only the two of them, the Justice of The Peace, Adrian, and me. Still, it was beautiful. It was perfect.

I realized yesterday how absolutely jaded I am now. How whenever someone tells me that they're getting married or I hear of someone getting married, my instant reaction is "Why!?" I think to myself, Why would you want to screw up a perfectly good relationship by going and getting married?

I also realize how silly that sounds.

Marriage is not the enemy, nor is it something to fear. Marriage is hard work, but can also be filled with happiness, love, and security.

These two are perfect for one another. The amount of time they've spent together thus far proves that. I don't know if it's possible but I hope that somehow in marriage, there bond can grow even stronger.

Congratulations, guys!

After my Ingrid Michaelson song post, someone commented, "It's just a song people."

I loved the responses to that, but I especially loved this one:

"And a poem is just a poem? And a painting is just pigment on a canvas and (so the song goes) life is just to die? Sorry, I don't buy that. I think it's good, great, wonderful to look to art, music, architecture, nature — all these things — to try to find or understand our connections to one another and to find some meaning to go with our experiences."

I spend more time doing this these days — finding new meanings in pieces I've already known. Songs, especially — whether they're about splitting up, or, more recently, being in a relationship that makes me happy — songs I've known forever I hear again and suddenly understand, suddenly feel like they're connected to me.

Suddenly, there are songs that mean something. Books that suddenly make sense. Poems that make me feel like I know where I'm going.

Because I like that — that feeling of connection — and because I want to irritate the commenter who thinks songs mean nothing but a paycheck to the songwriter, I'd like to spend a little time this week on those connections.

That's the thing about major life shifts: There's new meaning to find, and there are others trying to find the same meanings. Sometimes they say it better than we do.

Funny thing happens when you leave your bubble — you meet people.

Technically, I didn't even leave my bubble. I was sitting on a concrete slab on campus when a gentleman approached me. He was tall, well spoken, and confident, and politely introduced himself to my friend and me, as well as apologized for interrupting our conversation.

What I like most was the fact that he wasn't NYC-coiffed — you know, too well groomed as to reflect a bit of self-centeredness. That kind of primping always turns me off.

During our brief conversation, I learned that he is in the process of completing his MFA, which also leant itself to his disheveled appearance. I can appreciate that, as there are days where there is room to doubt — based on my appearance — that I am a member of a civilized species.

Long story short, I gave him a card with my number and email address. I figured what the hell, he represented himself so well that I would be a fool not to at least check things out.

I suppose now that things are beginning to wind down, that I may be slightly more relaxed than I have been in months past, which in turn makes it easier for people to approach me.

While I am not completely in the clear — I still have finals to get through, a job to find and I still have to move, it may be time to start branching out.

Back in December, when I started sharing thoughts here at FWW, my half-way back-on-again fling with Sam was new. We'd been apart for more than a year, sleeping together again for about a month.

I left in October 2006, but I guess in some ways I never totally left. Not for long anyway.

A week after I moved, we went out to dinner and a concert for my birthday. November was Lila's birthday and Thanksgiving. December, Hanukkah and Christmas, then New Year's.

I couldn't handle it. One holiday after another we just kept celebrating together. Apart. I couldn't say no.

I said it was for my kids, but maybe it was more selfish. Maybe it was not wanting them to be angry or upset with ME, or not wanting to miss out on something I gave away in the move.

There were a few months that winter, 2007, I went cold turkey. Saw him only when we transitioned the kids, and worked it so there wasn't time for dinner or small talk. We usually met on the fly and I was all business.

For two months, maybe three, our longest conversation was under three minutes. That was it. I was done. I was ready to file.

Then spring brought more birthdays, and slowly, slowly I went drifting right back in.

By the time my birthday rolled around again, October, we were having sex.

When this blog started, I had no idea so many other women were just as half-in, half-out as me. And I thought Sam and I would be back together by spring.

Now spring is closing in on summer, and one year is closing in on two.

I'm not sure what I'm doing.

But I'm doing the best I can.

Soul searching and self-knowledge are good things, right? But if you can't get too much of a good thing, why am I tired of the pursuit of my true feelings, ready to give up on couple's therapy?

I'm going crazy from broken-record thinking, and pretty sure my best confidants are ready to flee at my next mention of these problems. I need answers. A divorce article I recently read pointed out that while contemplating separation over an extended period of time, you put yourself in a state of prolonged heightened awareness.

Heightened awareness. Helpful, right? It went further: indecision is an opportunity to contemplate every side of the issue. Great! But then it switched gears: at this time one does not think clearly or logically, and might not employ sound judgment. Beware of your thoughts. So which is it?

Well, of course it's both. I'm aware. And this awareness feels heightened — if, by "heightened" one means ever-present, obsessive, and anxiety-provoking. What am I aware about? That I'm not able to make a clear judgment about my situation. Circles again. All in all, I'd kind of like a break from thinking at all.

I'm scaling way back on my obligations right now.

I think I loaded up my schedule with so many different things in an attempt to avoid facing the problems in my marriage head-on.

I'm not only working a lot, but I'm volunteering a bunch even beyond what I already do at my church. This is in addition to taking care of the kids and the house. In other words, I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

The other day I was rushing from one event to another, hoping nobody at the next meeting would notice that I didn't even get to take a shower that day because my schedule had been so hectic. I made it just in time to the meeting and while I was listening to the presenter I thought to myself, "Okay, enough is enough."

I've always liked to stay busy, but this has gotten way out of hand. There are too many people expecting too many things from me, and I'm feeling stretched way too thin.

This weekend I started telling a few people that although I had thought I would be able to help them with their projects, I just can't. I turned down a couple of writing jobs. I removed myself from some volunteering schedules.

I'm trying not to feel guilty about letting people down, but I think I'm quickly reaching a breaking point if I keep going at this pace, and that breaking point won't be pretty.

I don't know if this is going to help my relationship with my husband, but I can't see where it would hurt. If I'm a little less stressed — and not avoiding spending time with him — then maybe it will help us to face everything and figure out just what the heck we're doing.