All the different parts of me—Perfectionist, Competitive, Obsessive, Paranoid—show up like regulars bursting through the glass doors, late for the 7:00 AA meeting. They come in loud, familiar: the guy with the sideways cap and the frayed blue cloth belt; the two long-banged emo girls in oversized hoodies; someone fist-bumping two others before grabbing a 6-ounce styrofoam cup and a generous scoop of white powdered creamer from the orange-handled pot we all know too well.
Meanwhile, I’m up front trying to run this meeting—but there’s a window to stare out of, gum stuck to the bottoms of their shoes, and endless distractions. It’s a give and take. I can’t expect 100%, so I don’t.
There’s always an after-party in the parking lot: a cigarette dragged way too long, the jittery energy of a sleepover no one asked for, each thought a little too sharp, a little too fast.
But it’s mine.
And I love it.
Going On 40 