Grow...grow...

New York is like a magical candy land for singles...IF you're not trying to get married. There is a whole book genre and a popular tv series based on this. When I got here I went on lots of dates with GORGEOUS guys, and I thanked my lucky stars for the opportunity. I gave myself a year of non-monogamy. I don't know what that means exactly, for me I think it means that I will not commit to anyone but myself. I find that in my interactions with men, I am always having to choose myself over the men. Which is fine. A few months ago I decided to up the caliber of men, and suddenly old friends were asking me out. I went out with one, and realized that I was not ready. Something is happening inside me which is not apparent to the outside observer. Something is humming and drumming away. I pray to my Higher Power to please remove all my defects of character and I am getting exactly what I need in terms of experience. And they are going away slowly.

I have some Al-Anon podcasts, and there's a woman on one who talks about her addiction to mood-altering men. I hear ya, sister.

I met a man a few months ago at work. He looked up, I looked up, flash of lightening, a release of doves, an angelic choir. I asked him if he was single, and if he was, if he'd like to go to dinner. He was married, but he still wanted to go to dinner.

Strap me to the mast and block my ears, a mood-altering man if I ever saw one. I'm learning to play piano simply because he said, "You look like you could play piano. (If that's not the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me...) I declined dinner, deferring to the missus.

He's not for me, I kept telling myself that. He's not for me. God will bring me someone for me. He is a choice, and he is a choice between pain and serenity, and I choose serenity.

I had a long hiatus, and then I went out with a boy from work (who has half-jokingly asked me to marry him several times). Then he mentioned getting blackout drunk, and oh, how quickly that gate went down in my heart. Over and out. Pain and serenity. W has started peeping up here and there. He's been in what-counts-as-a-relationship-for-him for about a year now. She's met his daughter. She's pretty. I think I'd hate her on sight. It's odd though. W has been silent mostly. Maybe all W and I have in common is our fucked up childhoods. Codependent, meet addict. Fall immediately into enmeshment, live awfully ever after, until someone leaves. Best to stay friends, and from afar.

There is a lot of talk of love for the addicts on my Al-Anon podcasts. I love my family members who are recovering addicts. I can't say that I feel love for my addict father who passed away last year. I feel numb. I even feel a curious surprise when I hear other people speak of love for their fathers. It's like, "Oh. Right. People can and do love their fathers." I even love {The Ex}. But I feel that that is dangerous to admit, even now, perhaps because my recovery is not particularly strong at the moment. Strap me to the mast and block my ears. Low individuation, even now, two years later. Get over it already, lady, I tell myself. But it's just another wave of grief that must be endured, ridden out.

They also say on the podcasts that you can love an addict, but don't go into business with them. Marriage is a business agreement. Papers drawn up, financial and legal lives intermingled. Don't get married to them.

I don't even need to worry about this now.

I am the blade of grass, over which there are angels whispering, "Grow...grow..."