Well, heck, wow, gee. I've spent 11 years now writing this column. Why? Because it's interesting and challenging. Because it's a chance to learn about people. Because your stories are amazing. Because Salon has health insurance! (And is an amazing group of people.)

Random thoughts for the end of the year: Weird dates. We had 12-12-12, now we've got 12-21-12. I'll miss the weird numbers of 2012 when we go to 2013, and then we can look back to 1913!

For the new year I have a definite plan for the novel now. It's weird how long I've been talking about it -- and working on it. It started in 1995 when I started taking the N Judah from out by the beach to a temp job downtown. Money was low, we were newly married and I was trying to keep up my end of the economic bargain even though in my heart I just wanted to be a bum and write all day. So this story started taking shape in my notebook as I would ride the N Judah -- the old Boeing cars that had the single seat.

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I have never written a letter seeking advice from a columnist before, but since I think you are the best advice columnist that has ever lived, and since you are quite well and alive, I thought I would ask for your advice today.

I recently had a friend die, a friend that I had not seen in over a decade, but whom, nonetheless, I had remained quasi-close to during most of that time. He was a musician, as am I, and so we both influenced each other at times although I consider him my mentor still, to this day. He taught me a great deal about old-time country music, from Dock Boggs to the Carter Family; from Doc Watson to Norman Blake. He was a god to me.

And he was also a junkie.

He quit junk a few years after I met him -- we all knew this. I did not find out until later that he had been smoking crack to keep himself "straight," however.

I have never so much as more than smoked a joint in my life, so you can imagine how distraught I was the first time I learned that my friend, "Nephew" Jimmy, was a junkie. One night, as I remember, at some party, I actually begged him on my knees in front of all of our friends, hysterical and in tears, to stop shooting smack. Silly me.

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First, you are awesome! I'm so happy your health has improved!

Now, I live in Los Angeles. I moved here from New Mexico 10 years ago. Can you tell me what is wrong with everyone here? Where are the nice people? When I try to be nice they look at me like a hopeless simpleton. When they try to "act" nice it never feels sincere. Like part of a show.

Like dinner parties where everyone has to leave at 8 because the host is going out later with "other people." Or people invite you out with them to a play and then they spend the whole time on their cellphone texting someone and making plans to meet them "as soon as the play is over." And then asking you to drop them off at this other person's house. Is this normal behavior?

I'm 42. Female. Normal, boring job. Married. No kids. Don't want kids. Kinda nerdy. I try to make friends here at work. Give gifts. Make muffins. Make amusing remarks. Invite people to do a wide variety of activities with me. Sailing? Symphony? Hiking? Auto racing? Air show? No dice.

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Three years ago today I was wheeled into the operating room at UCSF Medical Center to have a sacral chordoma tumor removed from my tailbone. When they wheeled me out, they had been able to completely remove the tumor, and had determined that it had not invaded the bowel or other organs, and I could wiggle my toes, which meant I'd probably be able to walk. So my prospects for living a useful, reasonably happy life after surgery are very good. I walk a lot. Sunday I did yoga.

Also today, by extraordinary coincidence, which if one were inclined one might term synchronicity, the young and remarkable Josh Sommer, executive director of the Chordoma Foundation, was named to the Forbes 30 Under 30 list.

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I have a fairly simple holiday question to ask you.  But I fear that even though the question is simple the answer, or advice, may be much more complicated.
So here goes…
In all of your intuitive sagacity do you believe that it would be bad form to ask family members if they could contribute to helping pay outstanding debts (i.e., bills) instead of giving presents?  A little clarification may be in order (I told you this would be sticky).  Now this would not be the same as asking for money outright, which would be pretty ballsy and probably not welcomed warmly.  No, this is more like saying, “I would really enjoy getting some new-fangled electronic gizmo or the entire set of Robogeek I-XII on Blu-ray… but this year what I really need is leg up to get back on my feet, so to speak.”  Cash in hand says to me that it says to other people that I may take this to Vegas for partying and bail money or that groceries might not be the only bags I purchase with this money.  Also, a check is usually something from grandparents or for an unrelated celebration from an entirely different sect.  I am a decent person and I am fairly responsible but times are tough and the bestest gift I can think of is the gift of freedom.  Clearing up that debt gives me the freedom to visit and do more of those things I had to politely decline so that I could spend more time at work slaving away to make more money to eventually have more time to do more things with family.  Deep breath … OK.  You can see how this could foul up a person's "rasoodock" and lead to unwanted existential angst in the middle of a time of good will and good cheer.  The holiday season is a time for charity but where the line should be drawn is kinda blurry.  Or maybe it isn't.

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Longtime reader, first time writer. Next week I start a new job. It's nothing short of a dream job, one that I've been hoping for for years. I went through a lengthy interview process to get it, and it has real potential to be a career game-changer for me, an opportunity to make a name for myself in the field.

Like many who are on the verge of beginning a challenging new job, I'm anxious and nervous. But another thing is dominating my mind: I really don't want to screw this up, like I've screwed up every other job I've ever had. I keep sabotaging myself, and this may be my last chance to turn it around.

Past jobs I've had I've simply not succeeded at, even if I enjoyed what I was doing. I've wasted too much time on Facebook or other distractions. I would come in late and be too eager to get out the door at 6 p.m. on the dot. I'd frequently have a few too many drinks on weeknights and come in a little hung over. I would use up my sick days to smoke weed with friends who are unemployed. I also have a tendency to fall asleep at my desk even after getting a full night's sleep. I'd find an easy way out and keep doing it until I could no longer get away with it. More than anything else, I just wanted to be anywhere other than at a desk in an office. And while I would get my work done and it would generally be very high-quality (even warranting good references), I just haven't been an employee worth keeping around.

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I'm a college graduate in my late 20s.  I graduated a few years ago but I did not find a "good" job after college.  I'm still in the process of making a career change.  I went back to school a few years ago for a certification and I'm currently working as an intern.  I work another part-time job just so I can pay bills.  It may take me a few years to reach solid ground.  For now, I absolutely hate how broke I am and I hate living at home.

Last night, I got in a huge fight with my mother over something others may perceive as trivial.  Basically, she threw away some possessions of mine that I had no intention of throwing away.  It enraged me more than it would have enraged a logical, levelheaded person.  Today, I've been thinking about my life and I realize why I went crazy.  I hate that at my age, I still have to fight with my mom about respecting my things.  I hate that I am furious, but I feel I have no right to be since I still live at home.  

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I did it again yesterday and I'm so disappointed in myself. My problem is I answer people's questions about myself without being able to stop, reflect and decide if it really is any of their business. It doesn't matter how personal the question is, you're guaranteed an answer from me. It isn't until I'm no longer in the situation that I gather my wits and realize the damage I've done to myself. These people have no right to this info.

I practice things to say to deflect the questions such as: Why do you ask? But, in the heat of the moment, I forget. I also understand that this lack of self-protection stems from no boundaries being allowed in my childhood. But I'm not a child anymore and I really must stop vomiting out this info.

The holidays are coming up and I will be around some pushy people who always ask questions that I would never dream of asking another. I need some strategies I can practice (although that doesn't seem to work). So I don't know what to do.

Your guidance would be appreciated.

Don't ask -- Don't tell

Dear Don't Ask ...

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Compared to some of your letters, this one will no doubt sound very lightweight and a bit high school and I'm sure that some people will greet it with some serious eye-rolling/sighing/head-shaking. Good luck to them! We are all entitled to our opinion.

I am a 30-year-old gay man and I would describe myself as artistic, loyal, creative, intelligent, prone to bouts of daydreaming and romantic notions, as well as the occasional dark mood. In the summer, I went on a date with a man without the slightest notion that by the time we went our separate ways at the end of the evening, I would have the clear sense that this was the man I would spend the rest of my life with. I always thought that stuff was Hollywood and fairy tales and though I wanted to feel it, I didn't really imagine it would happen. Anyway, it did.

For about three weeks we saw each other and every time we met, it was amazing. Everything I put out he reciprocated. I told my friends about him. I told my mum. I showed everyone his picture. This was it. And then one night, after we'd been out we walked to the station together. I kissed him. He pulled back. And it felt strange. I got on the train and had a sudden flash of insight. By the time I got home, I knew it was over. The feeling was that strong.

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My fiancé and I are a pair of deeply-in-love 20-somethings who, like any young couple, have had our share of rough financial patches. We're both very hardworking people and have always managed to stay afloat without any handouts. I recently lost my job during the holidays and am scrambling to find work while saving for our rent next month. I told my fiancé that if we were still short on cash I could borrow a hundred bucks from my father for a bit just to tide us over.

During the conversation he casually said that his parents told him as soon as he turned 18 and moved out that they would never help him financially again, as he is now an adult and therefore must be completely independent. That seemed reasonable enough, but upon inquiry he went on to say that even if he were in dire monetary straits and facing eviction that they would still refuse to lend him even a hundred dollars.

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Beginning a sentence with "I" makes me self-conscious. This, I usually manage to overcome.

I have what I’ve come to realize is a severe self-deprecation problem, which is increasingly becoming a major hindrance to my career.

I am a filmmaker. I have been working in the field since I was a teenager and have generally been a reasonably successful film and television editor. When I was a 17-year-old film student I discovered I had a knack for the craft, and while my aspirations resided in directing my own work, I decided to passionately pursue editing, understanding that I would be able to make a living at it with more ease than I would with directing. This practical attitude may have sown the seed of my downfall.

I spent years working extremely hard and became very skilled at editing. I am also good at getting work at it. I am able to sit at an interview and make myself seem very competent and confidently make it known that I know my stuff, that I am the right person to do the job. And it works. But like soooo - I’m kind of over editing. I’ve done it for 17 years without stopping, and I am feeling a strong urge to move forward, progress, climb.

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I'm a grad student living in Philadelphia. I graduated from undergrad a year ago and went straight into grad school because it felt right. Nothing is wrong whatsoever with my pick of grad schools. I love the program, the professors are excellent, and the facilities charming and well kept.

Thing is, I'm not used to being alone like this all the time.

In undergrad I had tons of classmates. I had a few friends. There was always someone around to talk to. I was even in a long-distance, long-term relationship all the way through up until my senior year of college. We lived together for a while until we mutually agreed that things weren't working out. After undergrad I moved in with my family short-term before I moved and attended grad school. There were always my siblings, parents and local friends to lean on when I felt crummy.

I don't even remember being the slightest bit afraid of anything.

Now it's completely different. I can't stop thinking about everyone in my life and wishing they were near. When I have others around me I'm fine, but who am I when they leave? Even if I feel like I know who I am, what is this new reality of being by myself? What does it really mean to be "alone"?

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Earlier this year, two and half years into a long-distance relationship and after over a year of serious job searching, I finally found a job that allowed me to move 8,000 miles across the world to join my boyfriend. About five weeks later, he finally said what had been pretty obvious since I arrived -- he was no longer interested in me or our relationship. He refused to explain or seek counseling, saying  the "feeling was gone." While breaking up, things were said and done, or not said or done by both of us and we are out of contact, permanently, I suspect.

I moved out and things are generally going OK. Life here is much more costly on a solo budget and I sometimes feel lonely being so far from anyone I really know or who shares my language/culture. So, I've reframed this as a one- or two-year adventure and this helps me feel more positive when I miss my friends and family back home. I can still get angry that he pulled the rug out from under me so my first impression at the new job was of a distracted person with personal issues. Or that the great new chapter opened with being pushed away and left alone. But, I've turned things around at work and I recognize I am better off without him.

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I am writing to you for advice because I need it and from reading your column over time I have found you to be compassionate and perceptive and wise.

I would like advice on how to conduct myself. And I don't want advice on how to conduct myself.

I am almost 24 years old. A year ago I moved to a new city to be with a young man I'd been dating for four years. We were long-distance all through college and loved each other a lot. We lived together all last year and broke up three months ago.

It was pleasant and comfortable but not the life I wanted. He and I grew up a lot during our relationship but our lifestyles remained quite different. I ended it because I felt the differences lay in personalities rather than habit, unlikely to change. It ceased to be what I wanted.

Newly single, I have made many new friends and am finally starting to feel like a part of a community in a city that still feels new.

Only now, it's begun to feel small. I plunged into dating gleefully, enjoying the attention and novelty.

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I have a problem with my family, friends and co-workers. They all believe that I am a lesbian. I do wear my hair short and on many days, I can look softly butch. I'll admit that I do not date nor do I allow anyone to set me up. I do socialize mostly with women.

But I am uncomfortable when people try to bait me, such as admiring a woman and asking my opinion about her. My relatives preach to me about the sins of being gay but no one believes that I am not gay. My co-workers encourage me to come out of the closet. How do I change this perception of myself short of dating or other extreme actions?

Just Wanna Enjoy My Solitude

Dear Just Wanna Enjoy My Solitude,

Social progress often brings novel forms of rudeness.

We Americans want everyone to be a lesbian and we want it now.

Can you blame us for erring on the side of zealotry in our support of personal liberation? We have had in our history far too many closets, too many whipping posts and slave holds, too many hanging trees and burnings.

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I don't remember everything that happened. Memories change. But I remember one day in the summer of probably 1963 a typewritten page appeared on the refrigerator. At the top it said, PROCLAMATION. It said that henceforth, it being that the washing of dishes was a task unfairly foisted upon certain individuals and not others, this being not fair, etc., HENCEFORTH each child was to be allotted one stainless steel drinking glass, each to be of a distinct and different color, and each child was henceforth to be responsible for his or her own drinking glass and no other and that throughout the day when any child under the jurisdiction of this PROCLAMATION wished to have a drink of water he or she was to wash and reuse his or her own glass and no other.

My mother had begun making such proclamations right after she started going to work and wasn't around to personally supervise our caucus.

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Well, heck. It's not like I'm cynical. I'm not. It's just that the following letter is the letter for today, which means the one for the Thanksgiving holiday, where families typically get together and feast, is a letter about a pretty jerky and self-involved dad.

So I'm not trying to indicate that all families are bad. Lots of people have wonderful families. I love my family. But for all those out there whose families are a source of pain and embarrassment and fear, I'd just like to remind everybody that a lot of us have to make our own families, and we do, and that's what we're doing in all our online communities and at work and with our friends and all that. We're making our own families. And some are big and transcend boundaries and some are small and congregate on street corners, but there's something great about just being with people, so I will just say it, because I am not really cynical: We are family.

Have a good holiday.
Best,
Cary T.

Oh, P.S., I almost didn't run this letter because it had all lowercase and I had to put in all the uppercase, All by Myself. Poor me. Come on, people, there's a shift key.

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When my mom first was showing signs of dementia I was adamant that "something must be done" as I got married, started a new career, and quickly had two small children. Naturally, what I did was try to convince my mother to move into town, stop driving her car, and consider visiting a neurologist. My older brother, who lived much closer than my 1,500 plus miles, shrugged like it was no big deal. I should mention that both of us were still in our 30s, one of us (ahem, me) quite at the low end.

Fast-forward almost seven years and now my mother had moved in with my brother, only to move out and into assisted living in the same city where he resides. Not even in the same state where she lived prior to this upheaval, but very close and much more similar culturally, weather-wise, and a million other ways than my own state of California. Much. As my older brother goes through a divorce (no children) and continues on his path of creating, working, and great success, he has grown incredibly frustrated with the burden of caring for a parent with a very rare form of Alzheimer's. While her facility does do a lot, she has always felt that family should do most of the caretaking and is constantly reaching out to my brother for help. For my part, I visit four times a year to help relieve the burden, and call often. In fact, my brother will tell me when he has a weekend he needs to focus and I'll check in multiple times to make sure she does not disturb him. Still, it's not even close to the job my brother has taken on at an early age.

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I'm a young, vibrant woman. A feminist, you could even say. I'm the first to speak out against a womanizer or misogynist. I sign petitions and spread the news about anti-women politicians. I believe in women's rights above anything else. I reject old ideas about gender roles or the customs surrounding them.

When I'm having sex, all I want is to be objectified.

It doesn't make any sense. It isn't as if I want a man I'm sleeping with to think I'm nothing more than something for him to use, but I do want him to tell me that. It's puzzling because, like I said, I would classify myself as a feminist. It makes me upset to think I might be just like all the other women out there who allow themselves to be nothing more than an object for men.

But I can't help what I want -- even if I don't really want it.

Why are my kinks so not in tune with the rest of my personality? I grew up feeling like the boys around me were all judging me in their heads, and that, for whatever reason, I wasn't good enough for them. I constantly felt -- and still feel, sometimes -- like I'm not good enough for the men I want relationships with. Could that be why my sexual kinks are so off? I'm so sensitive to sexism that I think my view of men has become skewed.

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I feel as if my life is falling apart, and I'm not sure of what the next step to take should be. I am in my early 30s but have been married for 10 years. Three months ago, I decided to stop smoking pot. For the first two months, this was hell physically and mentally for me, but I got through it. Both my husband and I were serious pot smokers, pretty much 24/7 for the last eight years or so. When I quit, he cut down substantially, but he still smokes.

Along with quitting smoking, I have been trying to eat healthier, meditate every day and exercise on a regular basis. Instead of feeling great, though, I feel like crap. I feel depressed and am not sure what to do with myself. I used to work part time and would spend the rest of the time getting high and watching TV. Now that I am not getting high, I feel like my husband and I don't relate any more. I still work part time but now have energy that I don't know what to do with, and I am depressed because during the 10 years that I was a pothead, I lost all of my friends because I would rather smoke than hang out with them.

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