But, you know, I’m not getting attached or putting all of my eggs in one basket or any of those other things — I don’t know what’s going to happen in NYC, and it would be fairly, uh, uncomfortable to get super involved with someone who’s still living with my latest ex-boyfriend. Really, I’m just kinda excited to be going on a date — the first time since 1996 when I’ve gone out with someone who actually picked me up, chose what we were going to do, and paid for everything. Maybe that’s old-fashioned of me to want that in my life at this point, but I’ve spent so much damn time and energy taking care of other people — and footing the bill for it! — that I think it’s time I let someone else take up the slack for a while.
Also: I remember a point in early sobriety when I was amazed and excited by the prospect of waking up every morning and not knowing what would happen; I felt more like a kid on summer vacation than a worn-down thirtysomething woman who’d been put through the wringer of life. I’m starting to get a bit more of that spirit back, the exhilaration of facing the day with absolutely no clue of what would come my way, other than that it’s sure to be new and possibly even fabulous. And I happen to think that’s pretty darn cool. Namaste.