July 18th, 1981

It is nearly 12:30 AM. I am making potato salad for lunch with Wendy and John tomorrow. As the potatoes boil I sit in the living room, a cool breeze drifting through the open windows. Traffic sounds from the weekend traffic jam on the street below. Opera, a lovely soprano aria comes from somewhere– another apartment in this building. I am extremely happy tonight. It is so good to be alive, and the simple joy that is building through my days fills me with a huge sense of well being. I slept in the morning until almost noon. I walked Sadie to Washington Square, then came home and had coffee and showered. I cleaned the bathroom, then went to the laundromat. I came home and put away clothes, ironed the sheet for the sofa, ran the vacuum cleaner and gave Sadie a nice cool bath. Then I went shopping at the Discount Store on 7th, bought groceries at Sloane’s for lunch tomorrow, went to the produce store around the corner and bought three beautiful spider mums at the florist. I made a wonderful salad for dinner, showered and went to the 8:30 meeting at Sheridan Square. Joanne was there, and Jim was with Dick. We all sat together– it was a good meeting. Jim and Dick left at the break and afterward Joanne and I went to a sidewalk cafe for drinks. She had lemonade and I had soda with a twist. We had a wonderful conversation about her life, my life, our childhoods, therapy. In the middle of the conversation I found myself watching her speak, realizing how much I enjoy her, what a friend she has become. The restaurant was full of AA people– I recognized faces passing on the sidewalk– I had a powerful moment of knowing that I was 30 years old, alive and well and living a wonderful life in Greenwich Village. It is beyond my comprehension at this very moment to imagine myself being any happier. This is an enormous love I am experiencing for myself, my life, my world and the people in it– and awe and gratitude to the Higher Power that is caring for me, loving me, giving me these gifts. Four months ago I would have started drinking as soon as I got up, and the drinking would have continued. By this time I would be in a bar desperately trying to trick; I would be depressed more than likely– and would have spent god knows how much money. If I did manage to drag some poor soul home– we both probably would have been too drunk to do anything except pass out. Tomorrow I would have woke up broke, sick, depressed and anxious. And the show would start all over again. My days were filled with death and unhappiness. And now my interior is flooded with a happiness I never thought possible. The image from the hymn “Resting in the Everlasting Arms” is very easy for me to feel. I must go finish my potato salad. The opera has ended, Madama Butterfly. Wendy is coming tomorrow. I strew my house with rose petals.