There were many times when I was with him that I wanted to drink. Not because I wanted to get drunk but because I wanted to be where he was.
I didn’t want to feel apart from him. I wanted to share his experience. Our experience as he experienced it. Making love after a couple of glasses of wine.
Wanting so much to feel that warm glow that I remember being ever so slightly tipsy affords me.
So glad I didn’t. Could you imagine giving up sobriety for him? For anyone? I shudder when I think about it.
The desire to fit in never really goes away.
So, yet again, fate has been kind. I’m lucky to have escaped without totally ruining my life. I’m telling you if I was drinking now I would never be able to deal with half of what is being thrown at me.
Even though we have been estranged. My relationship with AA has really been the best thing that ever happened to me.
Even though I don’t want to believe it.
My relationship with LA AA has been particularly beneficial.
Going back to my 7am meeting in the Palisades. That’s why I’ve been waking at 5am, write this blog then schlepping down the mountain to that little room. It was the men in that room that persuaded me to move here to California. After a couple of years of getting involved I stopped going. The personalities there started to annoy me. I stopped listening. So, this time, I have been pretending I don’t know anyone. Like it’s my first time. Listening for the similarities, going back to basics. Relearning the language of AA.
It has been a time of great reflection. AA birthdays always make one think of how life might have been if I hadn’t stopped drinking. Good God. I was always so angry. Every day.
My anger is so destructive. I wonder if it has anything to do with that massive head injury I suffered when I was a kid?
Even though you might not believe it, I really hate me when I am angry (really hate me) and as you have seen these past few months I am not well served when I get angry. Letting myself down like that. Love, it seems, not only brings me sorrow but makes me very angry. Angry is not the man I want to be.
My real father was a very angry man. Not my step-father. My real father was pathologically angry. My step-father was just frustrated by me. If I hadn’t been around he would have been much calmer. Probably. There I go again, letting him off the hook.
So, I shall be off in a minute. Making my entrance again with my usual flair.
I had my Manhunt date Number Seven last night. It was lovely. Let’s see what happens. I told him about the blog and (you wont believe this) I decided that after this entry I wouldn’t write about what happens between us. Do I wish I hadn’t written about Jake? No, he deserved it. To be written about. But, I may have learned my lesson. Some things just need to be not written about.
I’ll tell you this before I keep my mouth shut:
We walked up Abbot Kinney in Venice. We ate at all the food trucks. It was really, really sweet.
The house is now officially on the market. First viewing today. I am in two minds. Part of me doesn’t want to sell. Part of me is desperate to. I will never have the opportunity to own such a gorgeous house ever again but buying a small place in NYC is perhaps a better idea.
Jerome popped by yesterday and said, “You have too much stuff.”
He’s right.
I spent a great part of yesterday getting rid of half of my books. I now have a much leaner library. Dictionaries gone. Thanks internet. Thanks Kindle. Thanks new technology. Thanks spell-check.
I am not the sort of person who hoards crap. Everything I have is beautiful and could probably sell for exactly or even more than I bought it.
I love heavy, white linen. When the house is rented I put colored sheets on the bed. Now I live here full-time I have stripped off the dark green sheets and remade the bed with my freshly laundered, white Irish linen.
It is still dark. Waiting for the dawn. The light on my desk attracts moths. Tiny little moths. I crush them and put them in the bin.
A HUGE cricket just landed on my desk.
