It’s been a bad weekend at Casa Caterwauling. Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it. Nor does “very bad.”

I was talking to my friend today and I said, you know, I thought that if I just stayed single and didn’t have kids, my life would turn out fine.

After all, I wouldn’t be poor if I had a good career, and I wouldn’t be relying on anyone for my happiness or security. And I wouldn’t be responsible for anyone else’s.

Negative on all accounts.

My friend offered some interesting perspective, though, having gone the opposite route. That they thought THAT route would provide the guarantee for happiness.

And … not so much.

Right now, I’m thinking of the closing scene in “Say Anything,” where Diane is afraid to fly and Lloyd tells her that once they hear the “ding” of the seatbelt sign, everything will be OK.

I’m waiting for my sign to feel OK. It’s happening in 100 hours. I can hang in there till then. I know it.

I just don’t know how to come back. But I’ll deal with that in seven days.

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