[continued] 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.
April 25th, 1981
April 25th, 1981
April 25th, 1981
[continued] 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.