Okay; so now that I've dug in with fingernails (no easy feat with balled fists!) to climb back on the planet ...

where do we go from here?

Surely it was the contrasts lived out over the past couple of weeks that knocked me off kilter ... hitting the stratosphere with Rosie's Girls one week then plummeting without warning to the depths as the sirens screamed relentlessly on mean streets and talk radio pundits smirked their hypocrisy hour after endless hour reminding me that it is sheer madness to pay cable for the privilege of allowing them into my home to corrupt my sense of well-being by creating the illusion that what is local is universal and that the whole world is aflame ... .

Fortunately, most of life is not lived at those extreme edges, but somewhere in the middle -- and today it appears that I've regained my equilibrium and -- if I stretch tall enough -- I can again peer over the countertops of life. Trauma is known to reduce even the apparently invincible to 6 year-old status, and that's about where I wound up last night. A good high-volume unrestrained sobbing session combined with a hot cup of Swiss chocolate with or without marshmallows does the trick if backed up by enough years of good psychotherapy, reminders of a loving family, good friends, and meaningful work to fill the days.

Resilience, thy name is Betty.