Yesterday afternoon I went to an engagement party for my old buddy Kathy Hepinstall, a fabulous copywriter and novelist (google her and buy her books!) with whom I used to work back at DMB&B advertising in 1991-92. Aside from being incredibly talented, she also has one of the driest and most sarcastic senses of humor of anybody on the planet. It was so good to see her, as well as Susan, another co-conspirator from those days, who is still gorgeous even with three adorable kids under her belt. She asked what I had been up to--it's possible Kathy didn't tell her, but I would bet that she just as likely told her to feign innocence so I could choose to share or not about my past. (Kathy had applied to visit me, I would never have expected her to not say anything to anyone we both knew who asked after me.) If anything I wondered if there was an exhibitionist, shock-value component to my telling Susan I'd spent most of 2004 in prison, but to tell you the truth, I shared it more to explain the book/blog, because I needed to share a writing accomplishment to another writer. (Speaking of which, Susan is close friends with James Frey, and felt he'd gotten such a raw deal in the recent brouhaha. I like Oprah, but I adore Susan, even these many years after innumerable tete-a-tetes behind closed doors on the 10th floor of 6500 Wilshire. So if she says he's on the up and up, he's on the up and up.)
I stayed at the party for an hour and then came home, because there was a lot of fun, completely civilized and rather attractive drinking going on. You know, the type where people get amusing and affectionate and anything excessive goes on afterwards, when they get home. I had to walk though what I would have done 10 or so years ago, when I still drank a lot (the meth gradually supplanted my use of alcohol entirely--for about 5 years they went hand in hand.) I would have left the party, gone home to change and do a line or two and been off to Sunday beer bust somewhere. When and with whom I got home could have ranged from 9 pm and alone to 4 am elsewhere, depending on whether Cupid was afoot and whether or not I was working the next morning.
Of course that behavior, in and of itself, did not consitute insanity, but it was hardly isolated. It describes more nights than not for about 20 years. So I made it a point to wake up this morning grateful that I could have a perfectly nice time without the next day having to do a fearful inventory of the events of the night before (particularly the guilt of having driven home impaired), not to mention having to negotiate, via Alka-Seltzer and any number of strategic remedies, yet another hangover.
I gotta walk through this on a daily basis, people. Because it's hard. A lot of my partying was great great fun and very hard to either regret or not covet again. Luckily (for me if not for them) I see and hear almost daily those who dive back in the old waters and discover that they are forever polluted to them. I have to trust that such would be my experience as well, and let them go there for me.
MCO 2006
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