Well, so far my tee totaling has not hindered our social existence, something I feared. I am determined to maintain that same schedule and position while keeping the circle of friends I have developed over the last decade. It is difficult, though.

However....one great thing has come about. I have shed about fifteen pounds during this rough period and my waist went down from a 36 to a 34. "Big deal" one can say, but you have to realize that I have shrunk into Mr. Astor's size (he has actually gone down to a 32). This is akin to winning the Fashion Lottery; a wealth of Versace, D & G, Gucci, Prada and more are now at my beckoning. There is, of course, the length issue; Mr. Astor is two inches taller than I am. But as long as there is a needle and thread, or even pins or masking tape, the loot is for the taking. I think will throw open the doors of his bulging closet and pronounce, "You now belong to me!"

Despite the restrictions I have to operate under, we have been able to keep up with the social schedule that exists, and persists, during what we call "Season". It is one thing to decide to drink only Perrier, but so difficult to avoid the innumerable offers of shots and other special toasts.
We attended--as we always do--Susie's Sunday BBQ in Twist's garden outside the bungalow where she works. Yesterday, we went to the movies to see Oy Vey, My Son is Gay, a predictable, but fun, film, strolled over to see Kathy at Score and then went to Twist to keep up on the gossip. As long as I can continue our routine and see the friends we have, I will have no problem with the new reality, but there will be a change coming.

Well, the results of several doctor visits are in. As everyone knows, I used to be the single, greatest consumer of Stoli Blueberry on the beach. Five months ago I decided to stop, cold turkey, and went on to sipping wine or beer during social events. Both doctors, separately, told me my body went into a type of shock, looking for something it was used to. Insomnia developed, getting to the point where I slept only an hour or two hours, a night, I had no appetite, my sense of balance was altered, and, suddenly, when I did have a cocktail, the body seemed to think that I had had ten. They told me I should have consulted a doctor when I quit, and they put me on medication that has reversed all of those conditions (along with the responsibility to refrain from any drinking except for an occasional red wine or beer). Who knew?
We attended a wild party that Thomas Barker threw last night at Twist. Grey Goose flowed from dozens of bottles with one guest holding a bottle and pouring it's contents down the throat of another. Boys and girls danced on the tables and couches of the VIP area while I sipped Perrier. Sitting next to Barker, I asked, "What's the occasion?" "Who knows?", he replied. And, we squealed with laughter. We still had fun; but what a wonder it is to be sober amongst freaks.

I continue to be holed up at home dealing with a multitude of problems. The insomnia issue is getting the best of me; I sit up at 3 AM watching reruns of Anderson Cooper. Few know this, but my brother Thomas died at the age of 23 from a condition named Fatal Familial Insomnia. It was tragic to see him whither away and, I have never forgotten that it is an inherited syndrome. For years I battled it with a round-robin of pills, but stopped taking them six months ago at the request of Mr. Astor, who thought they were making me crazy. Better to keep the husband than sleep, I thought. But something has happened to my body since then; where we used to down twelve drinks and have a blast, I can't even have a couple of glasses of wine without having to be airlifted home. I have no appetite and eat only because I know I must force something down there. I obsess about everything and I worry that I have lost that old fun self that would lead a bunny hop at the drop of a hanky. I might know more after my doctor's visit on Thursday.
Still, life goes on and there is always something to amuse us out there. Most of us let Daddy go on for a while before we scream.

Nothing could start off the New Year like a nude picture of Adam Levine. One just wished those overly manicured and painted hands weren't there. Still, there was that, one lucky girl (I presume).

I am making the giant step of seeing a physical therapist this Thursday on the hope that she can sort out the monstrosities in my mind that lend themselves to incessant insomnia , leading into constant fights with Mr. Astor (although the dear that he is seems to understand), the drinking problem (that as soon as I stopped, the insomnia returned with a vengeance), and the constant thought that I have no purpose on this earth anymore. We will see what she has to say.

Meanwhile, there is Mr. Levine.

There is no doubt that my emotional collapse began with with the fact that I had to hold KiKi down while he was put to to death. This changed my life, my relationships, my everything. I couldn't deal with anything. I almost left everything --including Leopoldo---to go with KiKI.

But, I'm back, and Mrs. Stuyvsent-Fish--YOU are NOT taking over control of this town! As young as she pretends too be, I will out-last her. Of course, I love her more than life, itself.

Posting will continue.

Well, the only thing Mrs. Styuvesent-Fish could do upon arriving back to the city was to invite Mrs. Astor over for what was billed as a "White Woman's Lunch". And she didn't fail. We started with a Southern Seven Leveled Salad, followed by a lovely salmon and sweet potato entree. It is difficult to remember the dessert, given all the wine forced down me, but it had something to do with dark chocolate. It was as decadent as she leads her life; but, who am I to judge?

Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish has finally returned to Miami. Rumors that she was in rehab or locked up in a loony bin in Nashville have been greatly exaggerated. It was a little of both, plus she was taken away from me at a time of great weakness so that she couldn't continue her bad, bad influences. I am now a changed person; still in power at the head of Society, but less likely to fall down a flight of stairs. Now, I am not at all suggesting that Mamie "pushed" me down those stairs, but her constant urging that I slide down the banister with a martini in hand didn't help.

We both took the month to not become sober, but to take life on with a more sober approach. We both probably saved ourselves from certain doom. We are to meet today for small libations at Twist. It is now in God's hands.