Asking a cousin about her sister, I learned the two of them haven’t spoken in four years.

“We think she’s bipolar,” she tells me. I don’t really remember this about the cousin in question, but I do remember a mid-teen struggle with drugs followed by an even longer struggle to get clean.

Well, I might as well ask the question. Bait, cast, reel it in. “Did you know bipolar is hereditary? ‘Cause it is. Highly hereditary. Did you notice it in anyone else in your family? Say, on your mom’s side?”

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Did you ever decide, before going on a high-visibility business trip to France, that you wanted to feel really chic and great about yourself? Did you ever then book a hair appointment for 36 hours before getting on the plane, and then for some reason think copper highlights sounded like a good idea? Heck, since your son has hair the color of a brand new, shiny penny… shouldn’t copper highlights look great on your brown hair?

Did you ever end up with chunky streaks of red, strongly resembling the yarn on top of Raggedy Ann’s head? Or, to be more accurate, the exact same color as the color of the bush in your back yard you’d been prattling on about all week?

Do you know what really fixes the problem?

Scissors.

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So here’s the thing: staying at a resort hotel while traveling on business blows. Especially when it’s a resort that’s located in The Happiest Place on Earth.

Most people who stay at hotels where business travelers hang out completely understand the rules of the road. Walk to the right. No surprise movements. And sweet Moses on roller skates: NO MEANDERING. Here, it’s a totally different ball of wax. I might think I’m the bee’s knees in my suit and heels, but the tank top and flip flops crowd look at me like I am an alien before they get in my way when I’m trying to get from point A to point B without colliding with a stroller.

Thanks to great ventilation, I’ve been able to chase the stink of the bug spray out of my room. But I can’t do anything about the painting on the wall. It’s a faux late-1800s merry-go-round scene, featuring people in their straw hats and bustles enjoying the ride and the beautiful evening. And, oh, wait, what’s that in the background? Why, yes. Of course. Cinderella’s castle.

It’s almost enough to convince me that this place has been here forever, and that it’s not built on top of a swamp / Indian burial ground.

Almost.

I’m not here.

(OK, OK, you’re right, I’m here. I’m trying to make it look like I’m not here. These people with their questions and their projects and their deadlines and their delusions that I have answers won’t leave me alone. I’m staying here until they all go away. Or until I’ve emptied my email inbox. Whichever comes first.)

So, I’m not here. Now where could I be?  Why, look! There I am! Over at Whit’s place, prattling on about god knows what*! Go, go, check it out! And bring the irate, pitchfork-wielding crowd gathered outside my door along with you!

*I’m pretty sure the little guy made it. I found something dead in the basement this morning, but it definitely wasn’t him. Too big.

It’s the Season of the Freak Out at work. 2009 budgeting, two huge client events mere weeks away, all-day planning  meetings scheduled from 8 am until well into the night every day of next week…

But enough about my misery. It’s not terribly entertaining.  But Helen’s and Jacob’s misery; well, that’s a horse of a different color.

Pop yourself a nice big bowl of popcorn, get (un)comfortable and watch while Helen and Jacob explore every nook and cranny of their marriage with their counselor. The link will take you to one of four sessions currently available for your viewing pleasure.

It was a small luxury in the midst of the pre-vacation rush. As I made plans to finish several work projects, close on the house refi, host a birthday party for my sons and get out of Dodge, I booked an appointment for highlights and a trim.

His assistant had just washed my hair, careful to use the special don’t-look-askance-at-me-or-I’ll-wilt shampoo for curls. We chatted about our children as he assessed which rake and hedge clippers to select for today’s trim. We know each other well, but I could tell he was a little embarrassed and very concerned.  “PATTY,” he said with barely concealed panic in his voice, “ARE YOU BLEEDING FROM YOUR EAR?”

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I was supposed to fly to Vegas today.

Normally I hate Vegas. This trip would have been an exception. I’d have been there with several colleagues I like tremendously, looking at meeting space, restaurants and nightclubs as we began planning a big event for January 2009.  I was so ready! It’s not every day I get to wear shorts to work, never mind shorts so reminiscent of the Von Trapp’s curtains.

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