April 25th, 1981
The meeting is very good. It is a double anniversary. One of the speakers is Craig– the George O'Reilly type who I’ve been staring holes through at the East Village group and who is a dream boat. I think he is very beautiful– and here is my chance to sit and stare at him and listen to him talk about his life. Throughout the meeting I forbid myself from fantasy. I turn my sexual/emotional needs over to my Higher Power, trusting and surrendering to its love. I am finished with writing my endless Harlequin Romances for myself. They’ve all been pretty shabby so far. So, I will turn this over to my Higher Power, who loves me. After the meeting, Jim and I walk to 17th Street to a party for Craig. Misty rain and quiet streets and I find myself talking to Jim with the honesty of an old friend. We walk slowly. The party is in a photo studio in a old building and is crowded. The first sober party I have ever been to. Almost everyone knows one another and I feel somewhat misplaced and ill at ease. I seem to be waiting for the music and drinking to begin. The studio is a strange melange of props and pets. Cats scurry about and birds stare at the crowd from cages hung on the wall. Theater sets line the wall. I feel like an outsider, but a welcome stranger. I feel that old excitement of New York. A New York party– clever people. There is a relaxed, natural quality to this crowd. There is a honesty– a lack of bullshit. These people are not phony. There is no posing. After a while, Jim and I leave the party and walk across town together. I feel so warm and relaxed with him. It is a rich, full feeling. I wait at the bus stop with him and we make plans to go to a concert together at Lincoln Center Sunday night. When he got on the bus we hugged each other. I walked back to Allan’s feeling full and content. The content of my life has surely changed with sobriety. It gets better– as they say.