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.

The continuing tale of a woman who escapes her nowhere life by traveling the world of imagination.

Maya looked down from the top deck of the MS Diversion.

Below her stood Pino, garbed in a tuxedo and leaning against the ship’s rail, cooly puffing on a cigarette.

Between them stood a steep side ladder with narrow, grated stairs just waiting to catch one of her three-inch heels in their evil web.

Oh, crap.

Pino fanned his fingers, she waved in turn. He had suggested this secluded deck area because there’d be less chance of detection. Dating the ship’s guests was cause for dismissal, and cavorting with onboard staff definitely went beyond proper FAM protocol.

But what could she do? Pino was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. He really did look like George Clooney standing there. No, no, Cary Grant, and she was Deborah Kerr, sealing their fate together with this forbidden love at sea. It was perfect.

Maya looked up at a blanket of stars. Letting out a resolved sigh, she grabbed ahold of the handrail and gingerly placed her foot upon the first step.

You can do this. You can do this.

She felt the warm Caribbean breeze caress her skin, then watched as it caught her evening dress, which billowed just enough so she couldn’t see her feet.

That’s all right. You can do this! Maya smiled at Pino, chuckling nonchalantly as she let go of the rail, reached down and clutched the hem of her dress in her hand. Grabbing ahold of the rail again, her knees buckled. She closed her eyes. You can do this.

Looking down once more, Maya counted the remaining stairs. Nine. Not bad. Just take them one at a time; there was no rush. There was just that gorgeous man waiting at the bottom …

Something on the horizon caught her attention. She turned, gasping as three dolphins sprang from the water in succession. She beamed back at Pino.

“Dolphins!” She squealed. She pointed excitedly, losing her balance.

“Careful!” Pino took a step toward her as she steadied herself.

“There were three of them!” She reached for his outstretched hand as he guided her down the last few steps.

“There are many, many more. They live in the sea, you know.”

“Really? No, I hadn’t heard that,” she blinked coyly as Pino pulled her to him.

“I have been waiting all day for this moment.” He lowered his head and grazed her neck with his lips, lingering to soak in her perfume. Maya’s eyes rolled back in her head as she shivered.

“Oh, you must be cold. Here, let me get you a blanket.” Pino kissed her shoulder and reached for a lounge chair. Maya moved to the rail, leaning over to watch a small pod of dolphins trailing in the ship’s wake.

“There’s a whole family of them!” Maya turned and pointed toward the water just as two drunken passengers fell out through the door. One landed a punch that sent the other backward into Maya, which sent her over the rail.

The continuing tale of a woman who escapes her nowhere life by traveling the world of imagination.

“You ate the moo shu? I thought your stomach was upset.” Jenny finishes folding a paper football and flicks it across Maya’s desk. Score!

“I was feeling better. Seriously, that’s all you can say after I tell you Rick stayed over last night?” Maya looks incredulously at her indifferent friend.

Jenny begins to fold another piece of paper. “Look, Maya, its just ex-sex, so excuse me if I don’t get too excited.”

“No, this is different. He broke up with Diane.”

“Is that what he told you? I’ll bet you anything it’s the other way around. And now he needs some reassurance of his manhood.” Flick. Score!

“Oh, thanks for the support. And he did too break up with her. He had his bag packed.”

“He had a bag with him?”

“Yeah. He’s going back for the rest of his stuff today.”

Flick. Miss.

“Maya, are you saying Rick’s moving back in with you?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Isn’t it fabulous?” Maya swivels her chair with elation.

Jenny stops her by the shoulders. “Maya, isn’t this a little quick?”

“Quick? It’s been a whole year. I don’t want to spend another day without him!” She swirls around.

Jenny stops her again. “Without Rick? Really? The guy who got another woman’s phone number right in front of you?”

“To be fair, he didn’t know I was in the bar at the time.”

“The guy who sulks like a baby if you didn’t wait on him hand and foot?”

“C’mon, I like taking care of him. Besides, we talked about our problems last night and we’re going to work on them, together.” Maya leans in toward Jenny, lowers her voice. “Plus, the sex was fabulous!” She pulls back and mouths the last word again, takes another spin.

Jenny shakes her head. “All right, girl. Whatever you need. I suppose this means you won’t be joining us tonight. You know, Spencer’s gonna take it personally.”

“Oh, right. Tell him I’m sorry. Have him text me.”

Jenny pats Maya on the shoulder and shakes her head, walking away. The act bothered Maya all the way home. What was her problem? Was she patronizing her? Why wasn’t she happy for her? She never liked Rick anyway.

Still peeved, Maya slips the key in her apartment door. It pushes against a stack of boxes; others are spread around the room. Rick, sitting on the couch watching TV, nods at her.

“Hey, MyMy! I’m glad you’re home!”

Maya navigates through the piles, smiles. “Yeah, me too.”

Rick leans forward toward the screen. “Pass it, pass it, pass it … oh, crap.” He leans back. “I’m starving.”

“Why didn’t you just heat up the moo shu?” Maya drops her bag on the kitchen counter and reaches in the fridge.

“I was waiting for you. Oh, bring me a beer too, will ya?”

Maya leans out into the living room to see Rick spread across the couch, right hand in his waist. He raises the other to motion a drink, then purses his lip in a pout.

Oh, crap.

The continuing tale of a woman who escapes her nowhere life by traveling the world of imagination.

“So the lumberjack says, ‘Sahara forest? You mean Sahara desert?’ The little old man just shrugs. ‘Yeah, now.”

Maya laughs so hard, wine comes through her nose. Rick doubles over, cracking up at the sight of her. She reaches for a kitchen towel and dabs at her blouse.

“Oh thanks a lot! Very funny. Now I have to change my shirt.” She scrunches her nose at him.

“That’s just like when we were up at that cabin by San Luis. Remember? We were laying in front of the fire, all romantic like, and then I said something that set you off—“

“Frank Sinatra.” Maya rolls her eyes.

“—Frank Sinatra, right. And you just lost it. You were spraying everywhere.”

“Oh god, I was so embarrassed!”

“C’mon, it was cute.”

“No, I do not remember it being cute.”

“Well, I remember it differently. I remember lots of cute things, MyMy.”

Knowing in another second she’d be locked in his eyes forever, Maya dropped her gaze, gulped and reached for her purse.

“We should probably get going, huh?”

“I was hoping maybe we could order in. Chinese sound good?”

Maya’s heart hammers in her chest, her voice chokes. “Chinese?”

“Yeah, that place with the good moo shu. And some spring rolls. ”

“Sure, spring rolls. I’ll call now.” She nervously rummages through her bag. “Why don’t you go on in—”

But Rick has already wandered into the living room, browsing her knick-knack shelf.

“—there. I’ll be right in.”

“OK. Bring the wine in with you.” Rick scans the CD rack.

Pulling out her iPhone, Maya searches for the restaurant’s number. She’s about to place the order as the Smashing Pumpkins blare from the other room. Covering her ear to hear, she motions to Rick that she’s going into the bedroom, but he’s playing air drums with his eyes shut.

Order taken, she sits down on the bed and stares down the hallway. Could this really be happening? Were they really going to get back together? Just like this? She let out a satisfied sigh.

“It’s gonna take forty-five minutes to an hour.” Maya rounds the corner into the living room, where Rick is back to scanning CDs. “Oh.” She backtracks to the kitchen and grabs the wine bottle, then holds it out and turns it over. “Oops. Guess we finished it.”

Rick takes the bottle from her. “Well, we’ll have to find something else to do for an hour then.” He pulls her petite frame to him for a lingering kiss. Maya goes limp in his long arms. She was home.

“I’ve missed that.” Rick brushes her cheek with his hand, then runs it down her shoulder, her arm, finally taking her finger and slowly leading her down the hallway. Maya succumbs, then stops.

“They did say it could as soon as forty-five minutes.”

“Oh, MyMy….”

The continuing tale of a woman who escapes her nowhere life by traveling the world of imagination.

“Are you sure you’re not up for tonight?”

Maya’s eyes pop open to the snap of Jenny’s gum.

“Sorry, Jen, I’m just not feeling well. You and Jimmy go without me.”

“Too bad. We coulda done ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ together.” Jenny does her best Pharaoh move.

“Yeah, that is too bad.”

“Tomorrow then. I’m holding you to it.” Snap.

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

Jenny skips back down the hall as Maya’s cell phone rings. It’s her ex, Rick.

“Hello?”

“MyMy, what’s up?”

“Not much. What about you?”

“Yeah, that’s great. Let’s talk about it over dinner tonight.”

“Dinner? Tonight?” Since Rick had started seeing Diane a few months ago, he wouldn’t even return her emails.

“Why not? You don’t have any plans, do ya?”

She hated that he assumed. “Actually, I was going out with Jen to the Sugar Shack.”

“Ah c’mon, I really want to see you.”

Had he and Diane broken up? “Well, I guess I can go out with her tomorrow … Sure, why not? Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll be in your ‘hood. How ‘bout I pick you up? Say, seven?”

“Great. See you then.”

“Can’t wait.” The line goes dead.

Maya shuts off her phone with a self-satisfied smirk. That must be it: he broke up with Diane, and now he wants to get back together. Well, she wouldn’t give in to him. At least, not right away.

Turning off her computer and straightening her desk, Maya slings her huge hobo bag over her shoulder and drops her phone in it. She makes her way down the hall, passing Jenny’s desk.

“Feel better.”

A smile washes over Maya’s face. “Oh, I will.”

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.

The continuing tale of a woman who escapes her nowhere life by traveling the world of imagination.

Maya opened the door to find Pino holding a silver platter covered in decadent treats.

“You ordered dessert?”

“Well, hel–“ She stopped as Stephano peeked around Pino’s head.

“Ciao.”

“Eh, ciao.” Seeing other guests coming down the hallway, Maya hurried the two men in the stateroom, pointing toward the sofa. “Over there, please.”

“Stephano overheard our conversation, and I thought we could make it a little party,” Pino said, nodding the young man toward the couch as he set the plate down.

Maya smiled at the older couple down the hall and closed the door. “Party, yes, sure,” she said, a little relieved. This thing with Pino was moving a bit too quickly for her. Stephano took the pressure off. “The cruise line sent a bottle of champagne; it’s in the fridge.”

“The cruise line?” said Pino, pulling out the bottle. “I didn’t know you were so important.”

“Oh, no. No, I just work in the LA office. This is a FAM cruise. Everyone gets one.”

“Fam?” asked Stephano, not understanding.

“Familiarization. So I can get acquainted with the ship.”

“More acquainted than you might have thought, eh?” Pino said, just as the cork popped and champagne sprayed the room. They all laughed.

Maya took the chair opposite the couch, where Pino and Stephano sat silently. The three raised their glasses and toasted. Just then, Spencer opened the door.

“Oh, sorry. No sign on the door.”

“I forgot…”

“What’s up? Job interview?”

“What? No, we’re just having a little party. Why don’t you join us?”

“No, no, I’d never intrude,” Spencer ducked in the bathroom, holding out his toothbrush. “Got a date with one of the dancers. Can’t resist a man in tights.”

“Well, at least have some champagne. Dessert?”

“Any sandwich cookies?” Spencer winked.

“Let me see—” By the time Maya got the gist, the door was closing.

She turned toward Pino. He smiled broadly, revealing deep dimples beneath his lascivious eyes.

She turned toward Stephano. He gaped at her with his huge, puppy dog orbs.

“You know, I’m not sure I’m up for dessert after all.”

Pino cocked his head. “Are you sure?”

Stephano looked at Pino, back to Maya. “You don’t want me?”

The look of rejection on Stephano’s face made her wince. “Oh, no Stephano, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m not feeling so well.”

“Oh, that is too bad.”

“Yes, too bad. I think we should try to do this another time, Pino.”

“Of course.” Pino motioned Stephano toward the door. Maya followed, holding it open as Pino turned and paused.

“I trust I didn’t offend you.”

“Oh, that’s all right. Just didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

“Perhaps you and I can finish the champagne tomorrow.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “Alone.”

Her eyes remained shut as he pulled his lips away. “Hhmm, that would be nice.”

“Tomorrow then.” He nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

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.

The continuing tale of a woman who escapes her nowhere life by traveling the world of imagination.

The knock comes louder this time.

“Room service.”

Maya squinches her eyes tightly.

“Hello? Maya?”

There’s a pounding on her temple.

“Anyone in there?”

Maya opens her eyes to find Jenny’s knuckles rapping on her head. A deli bag drops in front of her.

“Turkey and Swiss, no tomato.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks.”

Jenny pushes aside a pile of papers and hops up on Maya’s desk, her black mini sliding high up her fishnet-clad thighs.

“Geez, where were you?” Jenny asks, bubble gum snapping.

“What? Oh, I was just resting my eyes.”

“Uh huh. Well, be careful. Angela’s on a tear, bear.” Angela was the head of the reservations department where Maya and Jenny worked, and was notorious for her random outbursts.

“Thanks. I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

“Hard to do when you’ve got them shut.” Jenny twirls her pink-streaked blond locks. “Hey, what ya doin’ tonight?”

“I’m curling up with Netflix. Javier Bardem double-bill.”

“You gotta come with Jimmy and me to the Sugar Shack. It’s karaoke night.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Won’t take no for an answer. It’ll be fun. We’ll do a threesome.” Jenny winks, bouncing off the desk. “See ya tonight!”

“No, really—” But Jenny was already halfway down the hall, hips swaying to her own rhythm.

Great, thought Maya. Ever since she’d split with Rick a year ago, she’d been the proverbial third wheel, and the ride left her off-balance.

Bbbrrinng. Maya sighs, puts on her headset. She stands up and scans the room over her cubicle.

“Reverie Cruise Line.”

Her coworkers lost in their own little partitioned worlds, Maya sits back down and stares at the blinking phone line until it rolls over to another extension. She closes her eyes.

“Where will your fantasies take you today?” She asks the dead air on the other end.

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.