Day 18

Day Eighteen's Visual Non-Sequitur:


ANITA EKBERG

To you patient, indulgent souls who've been kind enough to follow these ramblings: no, the loss of my late, lamented silk mohair sport coat did not send me into a tailspin of relapses; I've just been incredibly busy with work and social events these last 3 days. (It's a glamorous life, but someone's gotta live it.)

Thanks to your sane words of advice and shared mourning for said sport coat, I pried myself down off the ceiling and managed to enjoy a nice evening out. I saw Marilyn Maye once again at The Metropolitan Room, which always cheers me up, and then had dinner at The Modern.

Now, The Modern is one of my favorite restaurants -- just a hop, skip and sashay away from my apartment. They also mix THE best martini in town, and the managers, God bless 'em, all know that I enjoy my Beefeater 'tini stirred, straight up with a twist. Upon arrival, there was an unexpected wait for our usual table, so of course, the offers for a comped drink began right away. I politely declined. Throughout the meal, the waiter and other managers began inquiring solicitously about sending over drinks. I need to figure out a really clever way of declining, aside from "No, thanks, not tonight." Just to mix it up a bit.

The following day, I had lunch with my dear friend D-Man (who, as readers of my Other Blog may recall, is the resident sex kitten of my claque), who I have not seen since deciding to Go Sober. D-Man and I have shared many a booze-sodden night painting the town various shades of lavender, so I knew my revelation would send him for a loop. Before I had a chance to drop the bombshell, he already ordered a drink; when I made my spiel, he turned pink with embarassment that he had ordered a cocktail. I reassured him that it made absolutely no difference to me; and it really doesn't. Other people drinking around me doesn't have a whole lot of effect on me. I get a craving now and then, especially for that delicious first sip and tingle. But I'm continuing to learn how to get beyond that.

In talking with my friends, and in hearing from guests to this blog, I'm beginning to realize that everyone has some kind of baggage -- whether it's an addiction, depression, whatever. We all have issues. There is really no such thing as "normal," as we perceive it. In our (my) mind, "normal" has always been equated with "perfect." What's more, we all have our insecurities, and people we may envy and/or admire may think that their lives are absolutely horrid. It's been eye-opening, and reassuring; we're all in the same boat, really. And having baggage is nothing to be ashamed of. It's when we have it, and either don't realize it, or refuse to do something about it, that it becomes a problem.