I'm a disorganized mess. My purse is gross: I once found a shoulder pad, string cheese, and a Christmas ornament in it!

In New York City, you can walk down the street and see a girl in a trench who looks equally as cool as a girl wearing Lululemon. It's like you're watching models. You see a little of everything right by you.

I can't remember a time when my mom didn't work. She has forever been on the move: a go-getter. When my brother Adel and I had a paper route as kids, my mom would get up before us at the crack of dawn to drop off the Washington Post at different corners.

I've had weight issues all my life. I've been on all the diets: Atkins, liquid protein, Scarsdale diet. Now I go to the gym often. I'm always on the StairMaster, and I do weights.

It's gotten to the point where if I throw a cookie in the garbage, I have to douse it in Cascade. Otherwise, why wouldn't I take it out and eat it?

I wake up at 4:15 A.M., get some coffee, turn on the news, see what's happening, go clickety-clack on the web to see what I missed overnight. Then I go to the gym, around 5:15, and I do what appears to be a very light workout, but who cares. I'm socializing with other nice people at the gym. Then I go into work, and I'm really awake.

From time to time, I'll look back through the personal journals I've scribbled in throughout my life, the keepers of my raw thoughts and emotions. The words poured forth after my dad died, when I went through a divorce, and after I was diagnosed with breast cancer. There are so many what-ifs scribbled on those pages.