Now that I have written of my concern for my friend J, and relief at her response, here's a 10-day-old photo of me that may well make you wonder about my own consumption.

Unfortunately, I can reassure you that what followed later on this night was not particularly raucous or madcap (two words I have been dying to use for some time now). It was, in fact, a sobering night with a disquieting ending. But tonight, we shall not go there. One because it's no fun to write about and two, because it's really not my story to tell.

Instead, I thought airing this in blogland this might make someone out there smile. Plus, I've just now figured out how to publish photos. Like a kid with a new toy -- or a frustrated former writer who no longer gets enough chances to use words like "raucous" or "madcap" -- I'm anxious to show off my new skill.

The flask is a story all its own. It was a Christmas gift that emitted dangerous vibes from the moment the wrapping paper fell away to reveal its smooth silver surface. It came with its own tiny funnel and was perfectly designed to slip into a purse. It winked up at me, begging to be used, whispering, "I'm your new friend! Take me everywhere!" I tucked it at the far corner of a high cupboard, completely out of my sight.

But not out of mind. From behind closed doors, it called to me. "I'm a gift! Don't insult your friend. Use me!"

I brought my silver buddy down one day to accompany my son and I on a springtime walk. He stared at me as I attempted to pour boxed white wine into its small mouth; I had completely forgotten about the funnel. I looked at him again and realized he was not staring after all. He was glaring.

Shamed, I put the partially-filled flask in the refrigerator and closed the door on it.

Robby never said a word. Neither did I. But the flask objected mightily. Or so I imagined.

Two Saturday nights ago, it finally made its official debut. Like any star attraction, it was photographed. Pictured with a beautiful woman. No wait, pictured with a woman. No, that's not right either. Pictured with a pop-eyed, fanatical appearing creature of some sort. The flask, and its brother owned by a visiting friend from a southern city, got its night on the town. It rode the light rail, visited a couple of downtown establishments and peeked out of my pocket as we strolled took LoDo and the Sixteenth Street Mall. Thoroughly depleted, it rode the train back home. Both flasks were along, too, for the disquieting ending of which I spoke earlier.

I suspect the evening would have ended the same if the flasks have both stayed home. But it's a convenient item to blame. Until I can come to terms with its role in our evening, it's been relegated back to its former home. High and away. Out of sight. Its seductive voice momentarily has been silenced.

Yet I have to admit: The thing is pretty darn photogenic. Even its ambivalent owner can see it has flash, a certain sense of presence. Reluctantly, I'm giving the flask its moment in the sun here on the blog. Admire it well. Although it thinks it's flying with me to Tucson next month, this photo may be its last public outing.

And consider this picture a warning: Things on my newly illustrated blog could get really ugly from here on out. Even uglier, and more bizarre, than this picture. Someday, it might just be you who gets the spotlight. Say 'Cheese.'

Last night, I sat here on my bed, laptop on lap, as usual. Thinking, not typing. Thinking that I surely had lost J in the letter I'd sent. I was content with what I had written and that I had sent it. Nevertheless, I felt sad about the loss of another friendship. For reasons as varied as Crayola colors, many have fallen away these last few years. If my expression followed my thoughts, I probably was frowning.

The phone rang. It was her.

She apologized for not calling sooner, thanked me for the letter, said she'd realized herself shortly before she received it that it was time for a change. We chatted for about an hour, a conversation sprinkled liberally with laughter and talk of getting together soon.

I believe what she says, probably because I believe in her. I hope her faith in herself is just as strong.

I hung up and glanced in the mirror. My expression had indeed followed my thoughts this time. I was smiling.

Sometimes, I have trouble making decisions.

Take last night, for instance. Ally and I were walking under a full moon. The air was still, absent the mighty winds that have plagued us all winter. Although we were walking on a sidewalk within our large apartment complex, not another soul was in sight. As I stopped to admire the night sky, a shooting star whizzed by, gold lines of remarkably sharp definition streaking along behind it.

It passed right over my head. Never had I seen one so close or so stunningly beautiful.

Surely, it was meant for me.

Quick! A wish! I thought.

I wished immediately for love with someone specific. And then took it back, thinking, That's a be-careful-what-you-wish-for-variety wish. Don't be stupid.

OK then, just love. With someone. Soon.

Now that, I thought, is selfish and immature. Insipid even.

I should wish something for my son. I'm a mother after all. Yes, that's it. I'll wish a great love for my son.

No, no, wrong again. This was not an altruistic moment. The wish should be all about moi!

But by that time, the star was long gone. And I felt mildly stressed from trying to come up with the perfect wish so spur of the moment. Besides which, don't most people just know their heart's desire? Is this something you should even have to think about?

In the end, I settled with wishing I'd see more such brilliant sights.

My friends often describe me as decisive, a risk-taker, a person of action and quick, dramatic change.

And maybe on the big-ticket items that's true. Surely, the most memorable things I've done have been somewhat spontaneous. The African. Bungee jumping. Belly button piercing. These make for good conversation pieces.

Clearly, when I listen to other people's stories, I see that I make major changes sooner than most. It's not as though I don't think about it. The solutions just come to me more quickly, I guess, and then I can see no reason to procrastinate.

When it dawned on me my marriage was over, I left. Like that. Never looking back, and with no regret. If I stayed, I knew another child would likely enter the picture (witness the multiple PWP children. See where all this indecisiveness gets you?). It was crystal clear in my brain that the time to go had come.

When I left the Gazette, I knew the day as it dawned. I knew, facing short-term self employment, it was a bit irrational. But was rock sure everything would turn out OK.

But when we get down to the nitty-gritty of life, the everyday stuff of it, I fumble.

Which route should I take to work? The interstate or the side streets? Which will bring me more pleasure? Should I run an errand to the store tonight, or take the dog for a long walk? Which one is calling to me more? And just this eve: Which gas station should I stop at? The one that's easier to get in and out of, or the one that's less busy, that feels more pleasant. ("Pleasant" won out on this one).

As you may now begin to understand, getting dressed in the morning often becomes a major trial. I'm tired before I leave my home.

All too often, it is not about what's practical. It is about what my heart seems to be telling me.

I know what you're thinking: This woman doesn't have enough to think about. As well as, Look at the train wreck that is her life! What's it gonna take for her to figure out the instinct/heart crap is NOT working?

It's not that I don't realize this. It's just that I can't come up with the correct solution - i.e. decision - to it.

In an effort to cut free of this somewhat circular thinking, I decided last Friday not to agonize any more about my shopping purchases at Kohl's. I'll just buy them all, I decided, and return what I don't want.

I bought 11 items. I returned 8. Sheepishly. "But the items I kept I really, really love!" I told the clerk, not wanting her to think I was a neurotic impulse shopper. Even though I was. Even though her polite smile said she already had me figured out.

Come to think of it, my friends also say I live life more by emotion than most of them do.

What it comes down to is I need to make many, many more small spontaneous and big, life-changing decisions.

I'll get started on that tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be momentous, the start of something big!

What on earth am I going to wear?