Parking outside of my childhood home, hunkered down in my car, with a box of tissues ( why did I not splurge for the extra soft, is a question I will struggle with for a long time as I nurse my chapped nose), I once again wonder what all of this is for. It’s December 19--six days before Christmas. For not the last time (and certainly not the first that week), I wondered how I would survive the next few days. I did not get here intentionally, as few mad people do. What started out as a true willingness to help others, a wanting passion for tradition, and my insatiable need for achievement, coupled with my foolish optimism and talent for procrastination, created the perfect calamity. My desire to know I am not alone inspired me to keep this journal of descent. Please read with a dose of humor, a lack of judgment, a whole lot of empathy, and perhaps a glass of wine. Thursday morning, November 24. Thanksgiving Day. Today is the offi...