11:46 p.m. - February 15, 2005
I laughed a lot tonight; I opened up and spilled a few things that I've never shared with anybody before; I showed - lived? - that part of me kept carefully under wraps and it felt wonderful. I drank a lot of wine and when we went to the Irish pub I had some more to drink but tonight wasn't the warm, tingly barroom intimacy; just that I was out drinking with them implies comfort and intimacy. And when they said dinner was on them I didn't protest, accepted it and it felt good. Good. Since I began earning my own money at 16 nobody has paid for me. Ever. Maybe people don't think about these things but I catalogues firsts, nevers, old hats and - I suppose this is ridiculous, as if having some wine at somebody's house before going to dinner is a big deal. But it is. I don't drink because I worry I'll somehow lose control and loss of control = potentially bad things so I avoid it but tonight there was no worry at all, just comfort. As if I granted myself temporary unconditional okay-in-my-skinness. Most telling: They were concerned about me driving home and offered me a place to crash. And I considered it, then declined, but I considered the idea. It just felt good.
It feels good to have people just - I don't know, like you despite everything.