Hollywood is buzzing with life. Women in short sparkly dresses and high heels totter along clumsily behind men dressed for the warm LA nightlife. My own apartment building has a heartbeat running through it, a drum and base line that pumps up through my hardwood floor, and the somewhere in the surrounding complex, a party is raging and a horn blares one of the best drinking songs of all time…. tequila. Girls scream, guys laugh, and the mexican music mingles with the rap. I am glad to be in tonight, after a wonderful dinner with an old friend, and looking at poor Saucerton Dogsworth adorned in her cone of shame.
I noticed a little bump on her side yesterday, near her belly, and it grew in size. So being the good mother I am, and fully aware of just how much the bump has grown-actually turned into a hardened quarter sized circle- I threw caution to the wind and took her to the vet. Worried it was either hotspots or ringworm, I figured she should go, because if it is ringworm, I probably have it too. I like to make out with her, she always licks my face, and there is a good chance I may get it if it is…..luckily it isn’t. No, thank god I don’t need to go get people ringworm medicine, not in the mood to explain that to anybody, “I got ringworm from making out with my dog,” it’s a bacterial infection that the doc said most likely isn’t something I can catch. But now she gets to be my little lampshade and I can’t begin to tell you how much this makes my day. What a terrible mother right?
I love when she runs into things with her cone of shame on. She isn’t good with the new spacial boundaries and is constantly getting stuck on things. Like in the car window, on the seats, while walking through doorways, sniffing the ground. One of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long time is Saucy trying to find the perfect place to go potty, sniffing the grass and scooping dirt up into her cone. I want to put a lightbulb in her mouth and have a blue walking lamp. I keep laughing at her and I think she knows. She is not pleased.
I’m pleased. Once again, there are huge things happening that I can’t discuss yet, but they make me incredibly happy, and fill me with hope. I had a great day today, started early with my boy Ax, who is one of the most talented artists in town, and ended with my best friend from highschool, El, who I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing yet in sobriety. We talked over garlic rolls and calamari, about life, love, and this behavioral contract Dr. Karim wants me to write up for my trip to New York.
Oh yes, the behavioral contract. Arch nemesis. I can’t believe it comes to this. I’m planning on hanging out with a guy friend over there, a very cute guy friend whose cuteness I’ve mentioned in session once. I’m also doing an interview and hanging with an old porno girlfriend who is no longer in adult, but they do not need contracts. Just the cute guy. And I do not plan on having sex with him, or even going near that road, but his cuteness is somehow deserving of me contracting myself to behave. Blah. I don’t want to play anymore. I just want to be able to hang out and not have to worry about what is excessive knee grazing, or eyeball flirting. I know I’m not finished in this recovery thing, and it’s never really a process that ends, but it feels so tedious, so, superfluous. A contract? We will see. I said I’d do it, but I really don’t see myself doing it. I’ve started to trust myself enough to know where my boundaries are, and how to uphold them. And this guy knows my recovery deal so I doubt he’ll try to fuck that up.
To be completely honest? I’m afraid to write up a contract because what if I fail miserably? And not in terms of sex, but what if I want to hold his arm? or kiss him on the cheek? What the fuck do I do then? Eat my contract and start this sobriety run over? And most likely, what if nothing happens at all, and I’ve spent time stressing off this stupid contract and doubting myself because it is what I’ve been asked to do? Doubt my intentions? I just wanna watch a fucking baseball game. Uuuugh.
I don’t want to be an addict anymore. This is going to require some additional thought. Maybe I should just wear the cone of shame, and that will be my behavioral contract.