When in doubt, or I should say riding some kind of mini-breakdown, I call my semi-alcoholic mother.  Over the years I have figured out perfect timing before she goes in for the kill--"utter disappointment" is her nickname for me after say, 5 minutes on the phone. But until that point I find a kind of comfort, the imaginary mommy/cookies kind. Not that she was ever that person.



Despite my 15 years of wanting to live in a lovely white house on the beach, instead I have lived those…