Apparently I attract a lot of men.

I don't mean in everyday life, although I might make the claim that I clean up pretty nicely for the most part. What I mean is that I've noticed that men seem to like to read my blog and then freak out about the things I say.

I don't know what makes me so appealing to these guys/this guy, but it probably has to do with the fact that I'm not yet divorced and am open to write about nearly anything. Maybe my critics think they can change my mind.

One thing I've noticed, and which I just really have to comment on, is that one commenter in particular really seems to project his own marital issues onto me. When I say "project," I mean that he was hurt by his wife/ex-wife in a certain way and for one reason or another he sees the same thing in me.

I'm just assuming, of course, but I think that when he types out his angry tirades that he is actually typing to his wife. It may be subconscious, but I would bet you anything that after he comments on my blogs he gets a real feeling of satisfaction.

Hey, mess with a blogger who has a degree in psychology and you're going to get an analysis. Sorry.

So to my dear male critic, I need to clarify a few things. I'm not your wife/ex-wife. She and I are two completely different women. I know that you think she didn't do enough, and that you had to carry the burden of everything. I know you resented her staying home while you went to work. Maybe that arrangement was indeed off-kilter for the two of you, and maybe it proved to be the downfall of your marriage. I sympathize that you had to go through that, and I have no doubt that at one time you were completely in love with her. It's tough to watch love dissolve, isn't it?

Do you believe in "signs"? This is not a rhetorical question. Do you? Remember in Sleepless in Seattle when Meg Ryan said she didn't believe and then the vintage dress tore in the attic with her mother, and she said, "It's a sign."

I believe in them. And isn't that really why most of ask these type questions — so we can tell you what we think and then give you an example? (Smile)

My mother died in October of 2000. It's easy to remember the chain of events that happened the fall before and the fall after. On September 29, 1999, I was driving my Isuzu Trooper into the city of Anchorage, Alaska, for the very first time in my life. And the fall after my mother died, 9/11 happened.

About a month after she'd passed and in early November of 2000, I was sitting in my house in Alaska feeling alone, cold, and depressed. Stinky was spending most of his time up on the North Slope working in the oil industry, and that particular afternoon, the children were sleeping. I put in an old VHS (ah, remember those?) of the movie Ghost.

What's important here is that my mother went to the movie theater twice in her lifetime: once to see The Way We Were and second to see ET (I took her). She was not a movie or television fan. She read books, and lots of them. However, she'd bought this movie for me for some reason. She came home with it and gave it to me as a gift. She said, "I thought you'd like this." Odd.

That afternoon in Alaska, I decided that I needed to watch this movie, so I pulled out a big comforter and hit play.

At one point in the movie, Demi Moore sees Patrick Swayze for the first time since he was murdered, and at that very moment, in my own "life's" movie, my door flew wide open and a rush of leaves blew in. It was simply magical.

How to say this without it coming out wrong.... Aside from the emotional chaos and inability to move forward, the hardest part of this limbo land I've created is single parenting with no break from my kids on their daddy days.

I know, plenty of you out there are true single moms. Full time, full on. I bow to you. I have no idea how you do it. It feels lame to whine here when Sam has them three to four nights a week.

But, obviously, I've come to whine, or I wouldn't have started this post.

I balance parenting and working (or, at least, attempting to work) five days a week. Because my work schedule is "flexible" and Sam's is not, Roxie and Lila are with me from Sunday night or Monday morning until Thursday evening. Sam has them Thursday night, but brings them back to me Friday morning before work and I take them to school. I get a few work hours Friday morning, and they're back with me all afternoon.

I know, many people have it harder. Many people can parent all day and pump out the work into the wee hours. Not me.

I require down time. Period. Lots of downtime. Without it, I can't function, and everything tumbles like dominoes.

I need balance. If I have my kids all the time half the week, I need a couple solid days of not being Mom. Not doing the bedtime routine, or waking to cries, coughs, and nightmares every other hour.

The half-in, half-out thing is not sustainable.

Here's my revelation of the week: We need to fully sever or move back into one place soon. Because until we do I'll be here, exhausted, in my tiny apartment trying simultaneously to work on my own goals and work as a family, and not doing either very well.

My classes started a few days ago and I was pleasantly surprised. All of this time I've been thinking — or rather, stressing out — that I may have gotten in over my head. "Taking 12 credits over the summer is highly ambitious," said the advisor. "Are you sure you're going to be able to fit it all in?" she asked.

I have a tendency to do that. I get excited about something and really overload myself. I like to get a jump on things. I like to finish first.

These classes are going to be relatively easy, though. The professors are really great, the coursework is interesting to me, and now, I'm really excited.

I was talking to a new friend about Adrian yesterday. I told her how looking back, I don't know how I've done what I've done so far.

It seems almost unbelievable to me now that I gave birth, took care of an infant, moved around and have been working full time, all by myself. I don't know how I did it. I do know that now, as a result, I am a coffee addict. But hey, whatever gets you through, right?

But the truth is, I do know how I did it. I wanted to do it.

I just learned about Living Apart Together (LAT). Interesting idea. (Isn't that what Woody and Mia did, only to have their sense of family diluted enough that Woody took up with his wife's adopted daughter? Eww.)

But from the sounds of it, others make it work, and in living apart, they find the freedom to stay together as a couple.

What about the opposite? Allow me to coin the term Living Together Apart (LTA!). As in someone moves into the guestroom and the former couple shares the apartment equally as roommates, and no intimate relationship continues.

I bet Rob would go for it. And this way I get to keep my favorite study intact, continue to receive the affections of my cat, and stay in my beloved neighborhood!

But would it be fair to Rob? I've been opening up to the idea that we have helped each other grow but might need to grow in separate directions in the future. While living together could eventually impact our moving on and dating, what about in the near future? Is it possible this could ease a transition?

Or is it a cop out when the fear of change and loneliness related to moving out are too tough to imagine? I'd love to hear from others who have given it a try.

Here's a question: Should a mother take her daughter to see Sex and the City? Should I even be asking this question?

I loved the series, but I'm 51 years old. Is it proper for a 13 year old to see this movie?

I don't think so, though my daughter is begging me to let her go. She's seen the softened version of SATC on TBS, and she's in love with the characters. She wants to know what happens to them in the end or more specifically if Big and Carrie get married.

Every little girl's dream — a beautiful wedding complete with gown, flowers, an orchestra, an unblemished face — you know the perfect day. We all had it once.

In the third grade, I was set on marrying a preacher. Don't know why other than as a form of rebellion against my older brother and sister who were best buds and were always leaving me out in the cold. Marrying a preacher seemed to be a way to "get them back" for some reason. Using God as my weapon. Hmmmm.

I did marry, but I was six weeks pregnant and nearly 38 years old. I wore an India style outfit I bought at Pier One Imports (when they used to sell clothes) and I felt like crap. We went to the Justice of the Peace. I had to throw up in the middle of the very brief and non-frilly ceremony, but managed to hold it in until we got home.

I was so sick; I barely made it to the bathroom, removing my clothes as I went for fear of getting them stained. It was awful.

Later, and in sweats, I treated myself to Velveeta Cheese & Macaroni (about all I could stomach) while our few guests had Mexican dishes that made my stomach churn. Yeah, it was a great wedding day and a great experience. Some fairy tale.

Now, back to SATC. I've heard, though I do not know, that the movie is not all peaches and cream and that there is a dark ending. "Dark" meaning what, exactly? Don't know.

Here's one from the comments:

"Grief is the price we pay for love...end of story."

I've been all week trying to figure that one out. First, if it was in response to the post or if it was just a general belief, then, if it mattered.

It doesn't. It's just a good thought to think on, because there's a whole lot of truth in it. Grief is the price we pay. For everything dear to us. For living life, grief is a cost.

But, so what? If we had no grief, we'd have no passion. If we have no passion, what's the point?

The thing is, I keep going back to that comment because I don't understand the writer's intent. Maybe s/he was agreeing with me. Saying exactly what I'm trying to figure out how to say right here.

It's not a cynical outlook. It just is. Everything worth having comes with risk taking. Everything that comes goes.

I've always thought of "this too shall pass," in terms of hard times, because the good times, we want those to last for ever. But, this too shall pass. Our lives are fluid.

Like the ocean, we're the water not the waves. The tide comes in and the tide washes back out, the water remains.

Grief is not the price we pay for love. Grief is the price we pay for holding on too tightly.

Grief is the price we pay for being human.

I say it's all worth the grief.

This is the story of how last night I landed in that 100,000 degree yoga class I swore I would never go to. How I made it through without waking up to the eyes of a paramedic I will never know.

It was 6 pm. I just got off the train from NYC and was heading to my suburban NYSC gym for a spin class when I got a call from Vi, my gym buddy. Vi said, Joann (her sister and my other gym buddy) wanted to try the 7:30 Bikram yoga instead — that they were having some trial special.

Not the hot yoga? I asked. Yup, that's the one. I had to pull over. This did not sound appealing. I wanted to say no, but I said yes. My high heels were killing me and I needed coffee first, so I stopped at Starbucks. First problem. You never drink coffee before hot yoga. The woman at the desk looked horrified when I walked in with the cup. It raises your heart rate she said.

Now I'm horrified, since this seems like a very bad thing right now. You didn't eat recently, did you? she asked. Well, I did not get the memo on yoga protocol between the train and the class, so yes, I just had a banana shake on the train that was one of the four meals allowed on my Diets4idiots first day.

I now notice that people are practically naked sitting in the hallway and I am already feeling hot. Has anyone ever died in here? I pay, grab my towel, and head to change and some girl yells that I am not allowed to walk in there in heels. We don't want pebbles in our mouths she said. Pebbles in our mouths????? Holy Zen. Second infraction...you need to leave your shoes at the door. Good thing they don't give out yoga tickets.

I recently attended a lecture about the workings of the human brain, specifically in regard to memory. During the lecture we were each asked to think back at to our earliest memory, then we were asked if we were seeing ourselves, as if looking at a picture, or if we were looking out, like we see things every day. Everybody said that they were seeing themselves.

Apparently this is because in order to keep a memory we must replay it over and over again, transferring it from one brain receptor to the the following. If you are seeing a memory as a picture, that is what your brain has done. I find all of this completely fascinating.

And of course, it got me thinking about Levi. What if I could just get rid of all of the memories that I have of him? Wouldn't that be fantastic?!

I find that the things I remember the most — the memories that really stick out — are not the "major" ones you'd think. Not the wedding, not the first "I love you," not the first kiss. They're the small, sometimes silly things.

I remember I told him that we were having a boy and he jumped up and down like a little kid. (I guess that one is a big one.)

I remember watching him dance alone at some bar in Manhattan looking like a total fool.

I remember some of our conversations absolutely verbatim, while most days I can't remember what I had for breakfast.

In all of these memories, I am looking out. Apparently this means that they are "fresh" memories, and have not yet needed to be relearned for storage purposes.

So what if I just never relearned them when the time came? What if I made a pact with myself to somehow erase the memory of Levi from my life?

Has anyone ever seen that movie Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind? It would be kind of like that.

What if somebody told you that they could erase all memories of your ex for you? Would you do it?