Movin' on up (soon?)

I've told you what a particular friendship I have with David. There has been nothing romantic or sexual between us for 15 years. After we were together in the early 90s, he had a lover for a decade, as I spun out of control.  In 2005, when I was a year sober, his lover died. David didn't walk away empty-handed, but it was hardly what had been verbally promised.  Had gay marriage been legal, this is the perfect example of a wrong that would have been prevented.

Anyway, no matter what affairs of the heart (or parts lower) either of us have, 9 days out of 10, we spend most evenings having dinner and watching TV.  We never say anything "nice" to each other, but we laugh at each others jokes and that stands in quite well for affectionate banter. We never fight.  We trust each other. I don't judge his nightly cocktail and he accepts (grudgingly) that I can't join him.  All in all, I believe there are a lot of people who would give their left eyetooth for the kind of "marriage" we have, thought it's taken both of us a while to accept that that's probably a more accurate term for what we have than anything else.

Between his good credit and income, and my access to a low-interest loan, we are in a position to take advantage of the downturn in the housing market, which has brought prices in certain areas of L.A. down from stratospheric to merely unreasonable. (People lament the housing crisis, but I have to note this considerable upside.) 

With our absolutely fabulous agent, Paula, we went to a slew of houses yesterday, mostly around Echo Park. Some of the fixer-uppers were really need-to-be-torn-downers, frankly, and some of the sweet finds were also so tucked away as to make going out for a quart of milk a pain-in-the-ass. But one place we could only see from the outside for now was in a neighborhood that was both adorable and perfectly located (David wants to be close to downtown, where he works, I want to be close to my favorite meeting). It is in Angeleno Heights, one of the only neighborhoods in LA where you find several blocks full of restored Victorians from the turn of the century.   (Our house would not be, it's a modest duplex, but just to walk the dog there! Heaven!)

Sobriety isn't about cash and prizes, it never has been. But it's beyond doubt that one of the costs of addicition is that you don't make healthy economic decisions. I had some windfalls in the past, and buying a house was never seriously on any agenda. Yesterday, for me, was definitely one of the results of being clean and living like a responsible adult.

The odd thing is that last night, I had such a severe using dream that it took me a good 10 minutes upon waking to really get that I had not, in fact, slipped.  The disease of alcoholism, one discovers, takes increasingly desperate last stands the longer you stay sober. It penetrates the subconcious because it one of the last places it can find traction.  

Luckily, no nightmare is about to rain on my parade. I'm gonna get me a slice of the American dream.

MCO 2008