About a month before Levi and I were married, he decided to get a tattoo. It was a tribal sort of tattoo and was of a circle that came together at three points. Somehow this circle was (maybe still is) very symbolic to him, and he told me that it was symbolic in terms of our relationship, our coming together.

I found myself thinking about that tattoo yesterday as I was driving on the freeway, alone. Since I've had Adrian I have found that I have all of my epiphanies, realizations, and profound ideas while driving — that's also where I do all of my problem solving. Driving to and from work, daycare, etc. is the only "me" time I really get anymore.

But, back to the tattoo. So I found myself thinking about his stupid tattoo — what it represented to Levi, what it represented to me — and I began to wonder what he must think of that tattoo now? (I mean, I've always said tattooing somebody's name on you is probably the stupidest thing you can do [unless that someone is your child], but I've never thought about a symbol.)

That's when my new epiphany happened. That tattoo looks like a cyclone. Our relationship was a cyclone. We came together in a frenzy, ran circles 'round and 'round until we spun totally out of control wreaking havoc on ourselves and everything around us. Then we broke apart, each person forever changed, each on a new path.

I'm a firm believer in everything happens for a reason, that there are no coincidences, that we are each put here for our own unique purposes; and every epiphany I have like this one brings me closer and closer to finding mine.

I've hit several bumps along the way to reinventing myself. It's hard to keep in mind that this is quite necessary and unavoidable when you're in the thick of things.

Being a control freak, I've tried to get around these issues. It's easy to get caught in the maelstrom caused by bucking convention and listening to your heart or going with that gut feeling, especially when doing so does not give you the results you wanted or expected.

I am in the process of trying to recover from a hat trick of seemingly debilitating setbacks: personally, professionally, and physically.

I am not ashamed to tell you that there were quite a few times where I handled each of these incidents with self-pity, tears, or alcohol. Or all of these things.

Always the multitasker.

I guess the point I am trying to make — to myself, if no one else — is that these things happen often and usually simultaneously. It may seem easy to roll over and take it. But I'll have to be prepared to live with that decision — for the rest of my life.

For someone who allegedly doesn't like to gamble, I sure seem to be doing a lot of that these days.

And it seems that I only engage in high-stakes ventures. I have always loved a challenge. Unfortunately, this time around, I am on a serious losing streak.

For the past three months, I've been hedging my bets in the professional world, to no avail. Recently, I've been wagering my personal life, too, with the same dreaded results. Just when I think I have a winning hand and that the cards are in my favor, the house rules.

I've been wondering why I even bother to take risks at all. In the midst of such a volatile market, wouldn't it be far easier to just take the safe road, at least until things stabilize a bit?

The problem with that rationale: the safe road is boring. Taking risks involves stepping out of one's comfort zone — something many people are afraid to do. This fear keeps many people from going for what they ultimately want, jeopardizing their happiness in the process.

I have never been one of those people, and I can't justify becoming one of them now, just because life has taken a rather rocky turn.

In my ongoing quest to spend a month happily living solo, I decided to spring for some fresh, fanciful fare.

I've just finished reading French Women Don't Get Fat. It seems the French drink a lot of champagne and that, somehow, ingesting quality ingredients keeps their women from over eating.

I scored beautiful local goat cheese at the Hastings Farmers Market and picked up a lovely pink Brut for under $40.

I don't usually drink alcohol while I'm alone, but I'm in survival mode and the kids don't get back until after Labor Day.

Popping the cork and pouring the Brut into a pink marabou martini glass, purchased at the TJ Maxx bargain rack, life seems sort of okay for the moment.

This was not a reward for spending a month in isolation. I don't need a reward, because I know that a workshop or trip to the Omega Institute is coming up.

However, I'm convinced that every night I spend alone is going to help me be a stronger person.

Admittedly, as I'm having these thoughts, there is a strong craving for a Valium or something else that will make me feel numb.

I used to feel desperate if I didn't have a man in my life. I still feel desperate, but when I compare the relative peace of my little blue house in Hastings to my married life in the mansion, with my over-the-top, angry ex-spouse, I'm satisfied with my decision.

But when I think of the things I gave up to be a hermit, I want to cry. Family and friends from the last 20 years are gathering on Fire Island this month to swim, laugh, and sail together.

Flirting with single guys, and sometimes even the husbands of my friends, chatting with the hunky lifeguards, and making the rounds to Saltaire, Fair Harbor, and Kismet were all part of my married life.

Feeling popular, rich, and loved seemed ingredients for a perfect life. But they're not.

OK, it's a weekend...and my "Guilt-O-Meter" will begin to rise from LIGHTLY GUILTY on Friday night to HOLY MOTHER OF GUILT by Sunday night.

Here how's it works:

Friday:

It all starts mid-Friday for this single mom, with thoughts of weekend "possibilities". It's a running battle of Guilt vs. Pleasure, and it's played out like a really sadistic game show.

Beginning about midday, thoughts of the approaching night swirl through my head... Friends? Romance? Exercise? Romance? Family? Romance?

If I wait too long to make a decision it gets dark out, and I get pooped out.

But Friday night is supposed to be the start of a breather and, with a little extra caffeine, I can gear up for pleasure. Unless it happens to storm, my hair’s too dirty, or I'm too fat...all of which even I can mostly get past these days with my new free wheeling thinking.

If I miss the caffeine, I land on the couch.

If I make it out, I am usually already guilty when I wake up on Saturday.

Saturday:

The GUILT-O-METER starts at "PARTLY GUILTY" the minute I open my eyes and steadily rises. As I zoom around doing errands , thoughts of Needs vs Desires thrash around in my head.

The Needs: things like a car wash, household fixits, food shopping, laundry, manicure, etc., etc., etc. are all pitted directly against…

The Desires: laying at a pool, going on a boat, buddy time with my daughter, and lust. No time for sitting down here. Whichever I choose, I start feeling guilty about not doing the other.

Saturday Night:

The GUILT-O-METER holds steady at "MOSTLY GUILTY" because there's no way I completed everything on the Needs list earlier, and I am either out thinking screw it or I am home on the couch passed out.

Busy people, who surround themselves with four kids, a husband, a wide social circle, a dog, two cats, and countless gerbils, do it because they don't like to be alone. I am one of those people.

My girlfriends, therefore, called me crazy when I told them I was going to go without a date for the next month.

I had no idea it was going to be so hard. Unplugging the phone and suspending the match.com account has not been without ramifications. The first night was horrible.

It reminded me of the first weeks of being separated.

The first thing I did Friday night after work was turn the lights down and turn the radio up. With the scent of candles wafting through the house, I ran a bath and decided to concentrate on "me" time.

Normally the kids would be watching TV in the living room, asking for second helpings of dinner. On nights when the kids are with their Dad, I'd be out for drinks with friends.

Weekends post-divorce, I'd usually be juggling a man, or two.

But not this month. This is solo month and I'm determined to find out what makes me tick.

There is no choice but to succeed. If I can't wrestle some quiet time into my hectic life, then nothing is going to change from the days when I was married.

By 8 o'clock I'd downed two glasses of wine and was feeling weepy. Wine churning around in an empty stomach, and the silence of a childless house, were enough to make me run screaming from the suburbs.

When the divorce was first under way, I'd thought about getting an apartment in the city. My ex told me that he'd make life with the children impossible if I did that, so I'd reneged, a good choice for the kids, but a tough sacrifice for a middle-age woman alone in a house in the middle of August, with nothing but the crickets chirping outside.

It might as well have been Stephen King's Maine.

As Morrissey of the Smiths sang, "Please, please, please, let me get what I want...this time."

Though the lyrics to the song of the same title are a bit dramatic, they're fitting, given the current state of my life.

It has been a rather long time since I have had anything that even moderately resembled smooth sailing. I am trying my damndest to not let everything get to me, but there's only so many times that a person can get kicked in the teeth before they stop smiling.

Anyone who has had an unyielding string of bad luck knows exactly what I mean. Even the brightest glimmer of hope and happiness seem to be overshadowed by impossibility and hardship these days. I don't mean to be a Negative Nancy — especially since this goes against every fiber of my being. But I am tired. Fucking tired.

All I want to know is, When does the time come to harvest the fruits of my labor and relish in its bounty? There is a point in time when this is possible, right? If there isn't, then what's it all about?

I need a vacation, but can't afford one. I need a break from reality, but those don't exist. I need a dose of happiness that lasts for more than a few hours and isn't overshadowed by the impending doom that seems to be riding shotgun to that very happiness.

I need a serious reprieve from all that is my life right now.

The week may have started well, but it sure didn't end that way.

Life is full of ups and downs. Once again, I am finding myself in the latter half of that equation. Seems that I am still supposed to struggle for a bit longer. I can't help but think: What lesson have I not learned yet? I mean, really?

Humility? Check.

Perseverance? Check.

Appreciation? Check.

The value of hard work? Check.

Rejection? Check, check CHECK!

Over the course of the last week, I was thrown so many curve balls that it's no wonder that I am dreading the start of another week. By Friday, I had all but thrown in the towel, and had to call for reinforcements. They did all they could for me, but my battle scars are taking a bit longer to heal these days.

I have been told — numerous times — that I am an intelligent, capable woman, and that I will do a great many things. Most of the time, I believe this. I guess inherently, I always believe this. But at this time of extreme irrational thought, I find myself quickly losing sight of this, while simultaneously spiraling deeper and deeper into a state of cataclysmic despair.

Not all of my days are spent like this. Unfortunately for me, the days that I do feel this way are becoming all the more frequent.

I'm tired of coping, of just barely holding on. I don't know how to do it, or where it's going to come from, but I need to figure out how to change things — FAST!

I can't help being angry. I know that good things can't happen to good people all the time — or even most of the time. But while things might seem to be on the up and up for me, a few within my inner circle have not been as fortunate.

Some of my closest confidants have been plagued with family illnesses, financial woes, and employment issues, putting them all in less-than-desirable situations — and states of mind.

I wish there was some way that I could help them all, but I can't.

It's just another reminder that life can be unfair, difficult, and just an old-fashioned pain in the ass.

I suppose this is the point where someone is supposed to remind me of the need for balance in the world: the yin and the yang and all that stuff.

Maybe, but that doesn't make it any easier to take.

I can only imagine what my friends must be going through right now.

I know the best and only thing for me to do is to be a good friend.

I also know that I cannot allow my friendsí troubles to distract me from getting things done.

If only it were that easy to compartmentalize these feelings long enough to get through the course of a day.

Last night I dreamed of Levi again. This time I dreamed that I was in Los Angeles with my friends, and that Levi came to visit us.

It was just like old times, with drinks, conversation, laughter, and music. Except that I was not the old, naive me, I was the new me, the older, wiser, mother of an almost two year old boy whose father abandoned him. That version of me.

I like her so much more.

In the dream we are at this party and we finally sit down to have dinner. Levi is sitting across from me, and I am struck with the realization that I don't feel anything; no pain, no anger, no emotion what so ever. I marvel at that for a second, and then feel giddy.

Then, he stares at me. Stares right into my eyes.

And it hits me.

That disgusting raw feeling, that feeling like you've been socked in the stomach; it’s the feeling that comes when you have pain, disappointment, anger, pity, and hurt all rolled into one.

Then the tears come and I try to hold them back as I excuse myself from the table.

In my dream, Levi followed me outside and we talked. In my dream he told me that he was sorry that he failed me, that he missed me.

In reality, I know he would never do that.

I woke up again thinking, What the hell is the matter with me?

Then I realized that I've done this before. See here.

It seems that since my divorce, every time I have an opportunity to have a somewhat serious relationship with another man — a man I really like — I dream of Levi, and I start having serious doubts.

I'm glad that I've noticed the pattern. It helps that I’ve been blogging about this, so there’s a record, and I can recognize these patterns.

Even if I'm still unclear as to what it all means.