"Dear Anna,
I will not ask how you are because I can tell from reading your so-called 'advice column' that you are still completely deranged. I confess I had hoped your mental state would improve with a change of hemisphere. Apparently this has not happened; if anything, your dementia seems worse than ever. I suspect you haven't been taking your medication. Pity. But must you expose your craziness upon the Internet for all the World Wide Web to see? It's a disgrace! What would poor Mama say?"

Very little, considering she's dead.

"And who exactly is Max? You say he writes for the theatre. I am tormented by thoughts of you and this American thespian involved in an enabling not to mention unhealthy relationship."

Lena is a willing slave to such thoughts. My sister, you will not be surprised to learn, is a pop psychologist. She thrives on and is invigorated by other people's misery. Which is fine. But she refuses to become a member of the Communist Party, claiming that it is outdated and run by fools. Which is not. And which it is not.

"I can't begin to tell you how unhappy you have made me. I cannot describe the shame you have heaped upon our family or put into words the despair we have felt since you moved to the United States. But then you were always incredibly selfish. I remember, as a child, the dogs wouldn't even play with you..."

A NOTE TO READERS: Common decency prevents me from exposing you to more of Lena's abuse. My heart is broken to pieces. Please check back later when I am in a better frame of mind. And incidentally, all dogs love me. - ANNA