I don't know if I'm with Rebecca Traister on this one. In general, I'm thoroughly in favor of not tampering with literature. But hell, I remember being a little girl and reading Are You There, God? and I'll tell you, I was far more hungry for practical knowledge than I was for the artistic hit of the thing. I, for one, was too shy to ask my mom what to do to deal with my period, so I didn't ask, and ended up walking around with paper towels wadded up in my pants during the week my menstruation made its debut. I think if we're weighing the relative value of things here, the relief for a little girl from getting some practical information slightly outweighs the archival value of the ye olde belt detail.

And I do say that with a little regret, because I remember the book with a lot of nostalgia. Hearing the phrase "Teenage Softie" takes me right back.

Letter Writer, Letter Writer,

How I understand. I am a woman after your own heart. I have been that person, I was that person for years, and I still have to constantly fight to avoid slipping into that pattern again. I don't know what makes this happen for you, I can only tell you what contributed to my case.

I had this feeling that it would just be somehow intolerable to have all aspects of my life functioning all at once. What if no one were mad at me? What if everyone and every institution had everything it needed from me, had no problems with me? What if I went to sleep at night with everything checked off every list I had? The prospect seemed so wrong and worrisome somehow, like I'd spontaneously combust or fly off the planet on some horrifying burst of released chi.

I relate to every word you wrote, and have parallel experiences for every example. The turning point for me came when I "missed" a court date for a car accident, ignored the warrant out for my arrest and ended up being arrested while picking up a friend at the airport. (They caught me because my tabs had expired! Of course!) I spent an oogy, oogy day in jail face to face with myself, and something in me shifted. I couldn't tell you what. Maybe I felt at that point like I'd punished myself enough for this nameless crime I'd committed that made me feel like I needed to ruin things in my life. But since then I've managed to keep a lid on it, and work out my hiding and avoiding and denying tendencies on much smaller, gentler scales. Everything basically stays in check, and I only create the sporadic need to suddenly grab a situation before it smashes into bits on the floor.

I just want to say that I have lots of sympathy for your plight, and I hope that you have a gentle turning point soon. You haven't killed anyone. There's nothing you've done that can't be made up for. I bet you'll be able to get this together, and you won't fly off the planet with the strangeness of it. Here's wishing you peace.

You're too right. I'm always assuming that everyone hasn't killed anyone.

Letter Writer, if you've killed anyone, never mind.

Question though: for all you fellow inertists out there - have you noticed that when you live with roommates you tend to keep the common areas clean but leave your room messy? I've also noticed that I'm so good at doing the dishes when I'm the guest at someone's dinner party, but I never, ever do my own. Is this something the rest of you do as well? May be something to think about...

This is absolutely the case for me, Syvelun, on both counts. I've lived with tidy roommates and risen to their level - to the point where I'd thought I'd changed! I'd learned! Now that I'm married to a man that shares the same problem that I do, though, the sloppiness and disorganization has taken over like kudzu.

But at someone else's house, I'm 100% on the stick. I'm practically washing the dish while I'm eating off of it. If only I could think of myself as a guest in my own life, hosted by an alternate me. I'd be good as gold.

I cannot for the life of me see what the problem is. It's ridiculous to criticize another person's choice to have children or not. (Okay, I can imagine some crap reasons TO have children. And I think it's better to err on the side of not having them if you're not sure. No harm, no foul, in that case.)

My first child is due any minute now, and I'm delighted and boggled and nervous and thrilled. But I've always been a nutbag for children. I find them fascinating and fresh and excellent company. No kidding. And they're comedy machines. At the same time, I'm aware that my life is going to get massively more difficult in a minute. I'm up for that, I like the idea of what that's going to do for my character.

BUT! I know many people who aren't interested in children, and it wouldn't occur to me to put them down for that choice. When people say they don't like kids, I have a tiny little "Huh? Really?" reaction that lasts for all of five seconds. It's like if you adore beyond reason a certain sort of food, and someone declares that food to be nauseating, you have a little "hwha?" moment...and then it's over. If somebody has his or her own reasons for not wanting kids, why should I worry about that?

Likewise, if I think children are the Caterpillar's Kimono and that my life wouldn't be happy without the intimate involvement with them that parenting brings, it's tough to fault me for having them.

De gustibus non disputandum est, mofos. Really.