I went to see Avatar this week, and its message of balance was taken to heart. Not just in how we treat Mother Earth; I actually think the imbalances that we are seeing around the planet are a greater reflection of the imbalances that we find within ourselves.

While I think it’s pretty obvious that most of us don’t live a balanced life, I can, of course, only speak for myself. And I find it ironic, being a Libran. But I think all of the craziness of last year was meant to show me that, while things looked good on the outside, all was not right within. I also see it reflected in my medical diagnosis, which is due in large part to that imbalanced lifestyle.

It appears I have MS; at least, that’s the conclusion barring an MRI (cost considerations, gotta love our health care), but I’m showing symptoms and the blood work indicates that diagnosis makes sense. Yet I feel strangely confident about the future. I am determined not to be in a wheelchair, it’s not even a possibility; and it appears that, by making some relatively painless changes to bring my life into greater harmony, I’ll be able to stay on my feet. How great is that?

As long as I can remember, I have not treated my body very well. I’ve always had body image issues, and thought the ugliest of thoughts about mine. So, of course, I didn’t feed it very well — I lived on caffeine, sugar and starches with nary a vegetable in sight. Yet like our planet, the human body is an amazingly resilient thing. And with a little love and care and, perhaps most important, gratitude, I have to trust that my body will come back into balance, as will the Mother that carries us all.

This past year was a big wake up call. Can’t get much louder. Life, you have my full attention.

Part of making New Year’s resolutions is reevaluating the past and letting go of those dreams that don’t serve us any longer.

Mine started 17 years ago, when I met my perfect man. The thunderbolt hit, there were shooting stars (literally), the whole shebang.

I should say the dream started a few months before, when I had left the Midwest to pursue screenwriting. I was going to be the next Paddy Chayefsky, and a personal connection led me to the Sundance Institute where this man — we’ll call him Michael — was a guest lecturer. Michael had produced a string of acclaimed independent films, and I was assigned to assist him.

All I can say is, from the moment I met him, I was smitten. He was everything I had ever wanted in a man, and here he worked in the film industry to boot. So when he invited me to help out on his next project, I immediately packed my belongings and drove out to LA.

Nothing was to come of it then; Hollywood had gotten the better of me, and I suffered a breakdown. I spent most of the next two decades getting my life straightened out. And I had, for the most part, until I decided to try screenwriting again….

That was the beginning of last year and, as I’ve mentioned before, my life has been flipped upside down in the past 12 months, so I now find myself in very similar circumstances to those I was in 17 years ago. I also found myself, through a series of serendipitous encounters, back in touch with Michael. And both times I felt the same magic, the same joy at the very thought of him, feelings I’ve never had for anyone else before or since him. It just seemed like the Universe had reconnected us so we could work together, support one another, have what we both had always wanted.

I told him my feelings. And while he calls my love pristine and nearly sacred, he said I love an illusion of him. I’m willing to accept that, but what if it’s not? He’s clearly unhappy, and it just seems worthy of at least a preliminary investigation. But now he won’t even return my emails.

I go over and over and over it in my head: Why won’t he talk to me? It’s driving me mad (again). He thinks me smart, he appreciates my sense of humor, he found me attractive then and I don’t look that differently, except for these dang dark circles under my eyes.

In truth, it’s those dark circles that are telling me I need to let the dream go. Same with the diverticulitis attack and autoimmune issues. Whether or not I ever gain understanding about this connection to Michael, I need to take all that energy I’ve spent trying to create what could be, and focus it on what is.

So I shall let the dream go—if not the aspiration of being a screenwriter, at least the desire to be it with Michael. I’ll keep the love, though. I agree with him, it is pristine and nearly sacred. Realized or not, that kind of love doesn’t come along very often.

So, it’s New Year’s Eve, and I am lying here on the pullout couch watching a repeat of the NBA game in which Brandon Jennings scored 55 points.

Not exactly the way I’d envisioned welcoming 2010.

The day before, I’d suffered a bout of diverticulitis. For those who don’t know, it’s a digestive disease, and an attack feels like your intestines are going to explode. Not a lot of fun. It left me doubled-over for hours, crying, cursing at the heavens, practicing my Pranayama breathing, pitying myself again.

Then, making my way to the computer to tell my doctor about my symptoms, I found an email from my lawyer telling me my limited options to make good with the IRS had dwindled even further.

I lost it.

Why me? Why this? Why now? What the hell was this year about? Hadn’t I been through enough in 2009? Don’t I deserve a little mercy? Just a little?

Then it dawned on me: I was the one who needed to show some mercy—to me.

I would never let anyone talk to me the way I talk to myself. Same goes for taking care of myself. I am quick to offer support and understanding to most anyone else. Perhaps this was my body’s way of telling me that it needed to be shown some sympathy.

I resolved to do just that, and reached out for help. Friends delivered my prescription and groceries so I didn’t have to go out (thanks, Joel and Laura). Others offered their help. It seemed as soon as I offered myself compassion, it materialized.

As within, so without.

So, I have been able to just lay low all day. It’s nice.

Now I’m going to email my old friend who helped find this Jennings kid. I mean, 29 points in one quarter?

Mercy.

My cat Dexter just pooped on my bed again.

He’s been doing it since we moved to the condo a few months ago. I’m at a loss, really. I’ve yelled, I’ve cried, I’ve scruffed him and hissed like mama cat. I bought him a ton of toys and a huge new cat tree, and had my handyman build a run across the balcony. I even had Dexter talk with an animal communicator.

Still, I find yet another pile.

Somehow, it seems an apropos metaphor for 2009. This year has dumped a lot of shit at my doorstep. I say that not for pity’s sake; I know there are a lot of people out there going through the same experience, and much worse. And we all seem to have the same reaction: You yell, you cry, you do what you can to accept it, and look for some deeper understanding of it all. But sometimes, all you can do is just clean up the mess and move on.

During his old standup routine, the brilliant comedian Joel Hodgson (the brains behind Mystery Science Theater 3000) would say, “Shit happens … if you eat right.”

At least I know I’m feeding Dex well.

I just watched the Washington Redskins lose to the Dallas Cowboys on Sunday Night Football. They got wouped.

I feel their pain.

This year just thrashed me. All of the loss it brought has left me whipped and worn out. For months, I’ve been saying I can’t wait for 2009 to end but, now that it’s nearly over, I feel too tired to go out for New Year’s Eve and see it to its proper conclusion.

The short of it: 2009 saw the start of a relationship, and a bad, mind-blowing end to it; two-thirds of my contract work disappear overnight; my beloved dog die; a financially necessitated move from my charming little house to a friend’s empty condo; and the diagnosis of an autoimmune disorder. There’s been a lot of other stuff in there too, but you get the idea.

One thing piled on top of the other so quickly, I never had time to really grieve for any of them. Now I just feel like I am stuck in a sort of thick fog, not sure where I am or where I am going. It’s rather disconcerting, really. And very, very tiring.

And yet, as the end of a year brings with it a natural sense of reflection, I have to think about all that I’ve found over 2009. A new love of yoga (there’s a studio across the street from the condo). A renewed love of pool. An inner strength I never knew I had. The ability to ask for help when I need it. A deeper sense of my spiritual self.

So, I shall use these as guideposts as I enter 2010, persevering and proceeding slowly until the fog lifts.

Plus, while unpacking some clothes last week, I found a little black dress I thought I had lost long ago. Perfect for New Year’s Eve.

“Achin’ to Be”
Words by Paul Westerberg, Performed by The Replacements 

Wow, can I relate. And not just because I relate to pretty much everything Paul Westerberg writes, being of the same era and a fellow Minnesotan. (Skol, Vikings!)

I’ve started and abandoned a novel, as well as a work of non-fiction. And I can’t tell you how many screenplays I have in various stages of completion.

After producing a few pretty impressive pieces, I ceased sculpting. Not having the confidence to perform in front of people, I gave up voice lessons.

Why do I let all of these means of expression fall by the wayside? It could be general laziness or self-esteem issues, I suppose. I’ve always prided myself on completing writing projects on time, and found satisfaction in creating a really smart marketing piece. (Take that as reassurance to any potential clients out there.) But when it comes to revealing a deeper truth within, I often leave behind unfinished work. 

So the idea of creating a blog intrigued me, if only as another outlet to at least try and express myself. I’m still not sure how I’m going to use it, so bear with. One thought I had was to have a running series entitled “Travels in a Cubicle,” about a woman who escapes her nowhere life through her imaginary travels—and their exotic lovers.

Then again, I may end up using it as a personal journal, telling the story that seems to unfold around me everyday. (It’s been an interesting year.) Maybe both, or something completely different.

Let’s see what happens, shall we? You can take bets on when this too will be abandoned, or if it is simply achin’ to be.