I want to be a workaholic. The problem however is that I don't like to begin working. Once I am in it and have a good start, I pillage forward and am happy to do so. But, getting started is such a chore. How does one find the impetus to do so? You have conquered every creative area to take on. From acting and singing to writing and cleaning the world, you have done it successfully. While I know bumps have occurred and it probably didnt feel positive all the time, obviously you have the gumption to work, constantly, continually, and with power. Where does that come from and how can I find my own? I want to want to scrub!

Dearest Bette,

This morning I had a horrible realization about myself: other people's constant work makes me feel lazy and dumb. For example, a colleague from graduate school works at a prestigious university and is constantly updating her Facebook to tell about her days on end writing and her manuscripts, chapters, and other sundry writings acceptance statuses. While I am so happy for her (she is my smart friend after all), I can't help but feel lazy and not proficient at my own job (seeing as it is the same job as hers, just another university)! I need those things also to move forward in my job and yet, I would rather play catch with the dogs or go out to dinner or clean toilets than write manuscripts, an integral part of my livelihood. And if I CHOOSE to do other than work (especially and specifically write), why must I feel so damn stupid and worthless when I see others' successes?

Dearest Bette,

How do you know when to say you are done with a relationship?

When you spent time under the eyes and arms of Aaron Russo, you had many successes and also many hurts. So, how did you decide to let it go, to change the relationship's course by letting him go? And how do you tell the person, "Thank you for loving me so much, but you are now hurting me?" When someone has been so integral to your life, has shown you so much of the world and even more important, shown you unending love, how do you let them go, even if they have also shown you hurt and disappointment? Knowing in your heart that they are causing hurt and angst, how does your head let it go? Or do you just let it hurt until it dies on its own? Is there ever a time to resurect it?

Dearest Bette,

While in the window of fame, the amount of negative press and hurtful sentiment must be exorbitant. You have spoken about your angst-filled time during Jinxed and the director who bad-mouthed you to the press. Still I have heard interviews explaining the experience and feel the underlying reluctance to ever utter a negative word again.

While I too try not to gossip or become negative in my sentiments about others, I am involved in an experience right now that is the exact experience you had, someone said I said/did and has sent out powerful press about myself as "difficult to work with." And now, it is complicated and hurtful to be in my current work space. No matter what I do, there seems to be some sort of "pay back." So, how do I continue to forge ahead despite all the negative press, the hurtful statements and the horrible feelings bubbling up inside? How does one not act out, speak out in resistance to negative comments but instead prove they are likable, smart, and fun through their actions? How do I shut my mouth?

Dearest Bette,

I know that I carry a burden that time has inflicted concerning my trust of people to care for me and my feelings. I've lost some that I called friends, those that I trusted with my heart. Even those who share my blood are somewhat untrustworthy and self-preserving. So I wonder, how do you know who to trust, who will love you when you most need it? Some say they are "good judges of character," and I wonder how they know? Is it that I am lacking character judging skills and that some sort of dismissal system should be in place for those deemed unworthy of my adoration or care? Or is it that my journey consists of hurt and solitude? Maybe that my expectations and needs are too high and it is my own self that should be dismissed?

Such a bitter taste is left when one feels another, a "best friend," a part of "family," betrays the bond, hurts the core of someone else, finds themselves too busy to concern with the life of another. How, dear Bette, do you know who to trust? And, why does it feel like even your best friends are too busy to care?

Dearest Bette,

As I was driving home yesterday I was met by a slew of community workers standing on shovels watching a hydrant spew gallons and gallons of water into the air, street, and down the drain. Sitting at the stop sign, my furrowed brow in full view, I rolled down the window and asked one of the bored, orange vested workers what happened. He told me that the pressure, due to the current heavy rains, caused the hydrant to blow. I then asked if they were planning to turn it off. He said that they were after some of the pressure was alleviated. Really? As I continue to take 12 minute showers and to wash laundry in only cold, they are literally letting hundreds of gallons of water run-off?

Then there is my plastic/reusable bag experience. Carrying my own reusable bag, I bought a couple items at a department store in San Antonio, TX. Walking out, I was met by a security guard who wanted to see my receipt and when the actual bag was not on the receipt, he accused me of stealing it. He sent for reinforcements to find the exact bag in the store, despite my pleas of its reusable bag status. They never found the bag, and I was stuck waiting for them to decide it was a legit idea to bring your own bag. Then, stopping at HEB on my way home, I see each lane double bagging others' items, one thing in most of the bags. Millions and millions of plastic bags. Ahhh!

Then there are the those that walk their dogs and don't pick up, or pick up in plastic HEB bags! What a racket! Worse are all of the stray doggies and kitties roaming all over my neighborhood. Even my elderly neighbor allowed her two dogs to have puppies, 14 to be exact. So, after myself and a friend re-homing several stray dogs and cats who were street bound, there are 14 new puppies in need of homes.

How do we continue on our ecological journeys while others don't pay a note of attention? How can I continue to do my part when it seems so insurmountable? I can barely stand knowing those puppies are there and I cant stand going to HEB and seeing the bagging practices. How do you, Bette, continue to do your part while the rest of the world struggles and ignores?

Dearest Bette,

As I sat in your final Vegas show, mesmerized by the glitter, emotions, and music, I was overcome with this feeling of finality. Finality scares me some. Your show was ending, gone, and all of the happy times I had experienced in Vegas over the last 4 times I had been to see you were also final. I thought of my grandpa.

I experienced the first personal death in my life in July 2009. My grandpa with whom I spent my entire childhood died after a battle with Parkinson's Disease. I know I am very blessed to be in my 30's with only one death experience and that there are more to come. Still, the end of his life bleeds pieces from me. I find it hard to swallow the emotion of it. It wells up sometimes and makes my body feel hollow and watery. While death might be a rite of passage for the one who died, for me, it was so personal, so connected and his loss chipped away a portion of me that will never come back, never be the same. Maybe it is for those pieces that I cry. It is so final.

You sang a song with Jake Shimabukuro on ukelele, simple, gorgeous, divine. It was also the song I chose for my grandpa's funeral slide show. It is a song that is so apt, so perfect and most of all, such a clear representation of the nature of being human. As, "There are places I remember" rang out in tender tone from your lips, my heart sank. My body felt deep and hollow and then, my grandpa's pieces, the memories flooded inside me and as I watched you sing about the memories you will take from your journey in Vegas (and perhaps as a showgirl), I had a separate experience in which the words were between my grandpa and I. You were singing his memories, my memories, and your own. I miss him, that grandpa of mine.

How are we to deal with the finality of a death? How do we move on? How are we to watch those we love leave, those we cherish turn to pieces? How did you handle all of the death in your life with grace? There are more deaths to come for me, and I am petrified of the finality. Advise this tender soul?