Melanie wrote her awesome post about how perfect procrastination paralyzes her in writing her novel and boy can I relate to that. Not only is the flower-arranging gene preventing me from writing anything longer than a blog post these days (my novel and screenplay lie unwritten too), BUT, I’ve come to understand something important for my writing, my life, my business and my ability to succeed – success is messy.

I’ve really gotten into women’s issues lately but in the process I’ve realized I’m not a feminist. I’m not sure I ever was, but now I’m sure I’m not! I’m a Feminista! There have been various “waves” of feminism , which make distinctions in the category of “promote women over (blank)”. The blank could be men, the system, everything else… it doesn’t matter. To me it all says, give us rights and opportunities because we’re women, we have great things to offer and you need us.

Ever had one of those awesome moments when you know why the heck you're on this planet and what you want to do with the time left to you? Your heart swells with passion and you have no end of energy to do that thing your most authentic self came here to do. Yeah! Like that! It's a rush, isn't it? It's like you're walking on air, like the burdens of the world are just GONE and you are in true alignment with the Universe. You look up at the heavens and scream, "Yeah, God! I OWN this. More of this!"

This was me over the holidays.

Then Jan 3 arrived.

We broke up, but the sex is better than ever.

About once a week, my husband rolls his eyes at me over the morning paper (well, the morning ipad) because I accidentally reveal my total lack of pop cultural literacy. I roll my eyes right back at him because while I think it's reasonable for him to know who's in the Superbowl (and equally reasonable for me not to), I can't figure out why he knows or cares about what Glee is.

We always get a good laugh out of it, so this divorce article isn't about marital stress --this is about how pop culture (affectionately known to me as PC) and I let our relationship disintegrate until we drifted into divorce without even realizing it. It's about the dialog I'm having with myself about my gradual-but-accelerating lack of interest in PC sex. Am I just becoming a old, unplugged fuddy duddy, afraid to try new positions? Will the sex ever be as good as it used to be?