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.

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.

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.

This is the worst I've felt in years.

This past Thursday, I was hit with the meanest case of the flu I've ever had in my adult life, complete with fever-induced chills and a chest-rattling cough. Even my abs hurt from all the convulsing brought on by this illness. Insult to injury, as was discussed in a previous post, my "friends" — save for one, were nowhere to be found. If any of these other "friends" had been ill, they would be begging for me to make some of my kick-ass chicken soup. And I would have, because that's what friends do.

But I've already discussed the need to divorce my friends, so I will move on.

Friday was the absolute worst of the whole ordeal. I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night unable to breathe. My air passage had all but closed, and the portion that was still open was blocked by all that fun stuff that comes with being congested. I was frightened, and rightfully so. Single, isolated and on a fifth floor walk-up: Does it really get any worse than that? If I couldn't have cleared my air passages that night, there is no guarantee that I would be telling this story today.

These are the things that keep a single person awake at night - they also manage to consume the greater part of one's days. I am sure my thought process will return to normal once I've recovered, but for now...

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)

I never get sick, but ever since New York turned into Fargo this month, I've been "dying" on and off with various versions of the flu, a sinus infection, some wacky virus, girly issues, etc., etc.

Each of these recent health episodes forced me to deal with the same awkward question on the doctor's office sign-in form: Who the hell is my emergency contact these days?

When you live with somebody, like it or not — tag — they're it! Husband, boyfriend, roommate, whoever.

But when you live alone or live alone with kids, you now have to decide who you want to "bother" if you're dying. Long nights on your couch alone in a fetal position also make you re-assess this question. Kids can only do so much and, truthfully, as long they see you're still breathing they really lose interest.

This week I had a bizarre allergic reaction to a prescription medication. No one seemed to be able to diagnose the problem, which kept worsening, till I finally landed in the emergency room yesterday morning and Dr. McFabulous figured it out and gave me the shot that I needed six days ago. WHEW!

In my lifetime I haven't whipped my clothes off for as many strangers as I did this week AND good thing this ended, too, because I was seriously running out of "matching sets."

But this blog is not about the time I spent frantically clicking on medical sites matching drug reaction symptoms, or the "almost" 911 call that I talked myself out of making for fear that I was imagining the heart attack, or the night I slept on the bathroom floor because I was so delirious from this so-called virus I couldn't stand up, or the daily trips to urgent care only to be sent home each time thinking I was nuts, or the Benedryl (gotta love it) that kept getting me beeped from behind at all the green lights.

As nice as it is — or was — to cuddle and sleep next to a significant other, I am getting pretty darn used to sleeping alone.

It has been well over a year that I have had my bed all to myself and the thought of sharing it sometimes makes me cringe.

When you sleep alone you don't have to deal with snoring. You are not awakened by someone pulling on the blankets. You don't find yourself being smothered by a well-intended arm wrapped around you. You don't have to be subjected to someone's too-long toenails brushing up against you in the night.

Yes, there is something to be said about sleeping alone.

As we all have learned thanks to the whole Britney Spears thing, Dr. Phil is not really a psychologist. Nevertheless, I still value his opinion. I agree with his advice that before you leave the marriage you need to earn your way out. I did this by trying everything I could possibly think of before leaving. I wanted to be able to someday look back and realize I had made every effort possible to save this marriage. I wanted to do this not only for myself, but for my kids as well.

Things where very bad in our home for about two years before I packed the kids and left. When it became physical, that was the end of it.

I suggested and even begged for counseling on numerous occasions. I even sought counseling for myself, since he would not go. He felt this was my issue, not our issue. Therefore, I had my work cut out for me. I was married to the only perfect person in the word. Thus, every problem we had was about my imperfections.

I purchased the post-divorce home a year before leaving. I wanted him to realize I was serious, and to have a place to go if things became too unbearable. This turned out to be the best investment I have ever made in my life. It made the transition so much easier. I didn't need to go to family or anyone for help. I had all the pieces in place to make this move with as little stress as possible for my kids.

I am thankful I took these steps before leaving. A well thought-out plan saved adding a huge amount of stress to an already stressful situation.