I think I’m on the make. I’ve noticed that I’ve evaluating guys on the street for… well, I’ll call it what it is: fuckability. Walking to the train station every day, I have an entertaining internal monologue. “No… hell no… hell yes… if he got a haircut I’d totally hit it.”

I haven’t had any interest in what I’ll call romance for a long time, so I suppose it’s a sign of emotional progress that I’m thinking about it now. But to be honest, the whole idea of getting to know someone in a romantic context seems so overwhelming that I’m ready to give up before I start. I doubt there’s such a thing as a sober one-night stand, but even if there is, that’s not what I want. But how do you get from talking with someone to pawing at each other without alcohol? I’m asking because I seriously don’t know.

I suppose I have to cross this bridge sometime, because it’s a bridge that leads back to having a real life with all the frills. But for now, the idea of being cloistered kind of appeals to me.

In this great article from “The Stranger,” Seattle’s weekly paper, Kathleen Wilson talks about her first few months of sobriety: “I had sober sex for the first time in my life sometime during those first three months. I remember I was terrified and I remember it was just like high school and I remember it felt really, really good.”

It’s something to look forward to.

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