To A Drinker The Sensation Is Real

Mastery Over The Body - Its Impulses, Its Needs, Its Size - Is Paramount; To Lose Control Is To Risk Beauty, And To Risk Beauty Is To Risk Desirability, And To Risk Desirability Is To Risk Entitlement To Sexuality And Love And Self-esteem.

Was He Smart Enough? Introspective Enough? Was It Just Enough To Love Him, Or Should I Attach Myself To Someone Who Seemed Farther Ahead Of Me, Someone Smarter And More Ambitious Than Me, Who'd Be Sure To Carry Me Along Into The Version Of Adulthood I Thought I Should Be Striving For?

Trying To Describe The Process Of Becoming An Alcoholic Is Like Trying To Describe Air. It's Too Big And Mysterious And Pervasive To Be Defined. Alcohol Is Everywhere In Your Life, Omnipresent, And You're Both Aware And Unaware Of It Almost All The Time, All You Know Is You'd Die Without It, And There Is No Simple Reason Why This Happens, No Single Moment, No Physiological Event That Pushes A Heavy Drinker Across A Concrete Line Into Alcoholism. It's A Slow, Gradual, Insidious, Elusive Becoming.

The Key, I Suppose, Has Less To Do With Insight Than With Willingness, The Former Being Relatively Useless Without The Latter.

I'm 38 And I'm Single, And I'm Having My Most Intense And Gratifying Relationship With A Dog. But We All Learn About Love In Different Ways, And This Way Happens To Be Mine.