The grass is always greener in my ex's yard.

I spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. On top of that I have an active imagination and I'm an excellent story teller. For instance, I tell myself this story about how ex and the new gf go out for fancy dinners every night at beautifully decorated restaurants and drink exquisite cocktails out of sparkly glasses and throw back their heads and laugh, laugh, laugh at their luck that when they dumped their alcoholic spouses they found each other. (Ex even has a full head of hair in this story.)

My story makes me feel jealous. Apparently, I like feeling jealous because when I try and rewrite this one they just end up drinking cocktails at the beach, or in Italy, or in a sewer. Sure I hate them but I hate them more that they are normies. (That's what we AAers call people who can have one or two and stop.)  She's me before. A better, normal me. Honestly, when I see them together the first thing that crosses my mind is "Get your hands off my husband."

My contracting gig ends tomorrow and clearly I need to hit up a few meetings. As Zig Zigler (A long time ago I was engaged to a guy who made me read his book, How to win Friends and Influence People) says, "I need a check up from the neck up. I'm suffering from a hardening of the attitudes." Because another story I'm starting to tell myself sometimes is that maybe I misdiagnosed that little drinking problem of mine and that maybe I can have a martini now and then. Maybe I drank too much because I was unhappy and now that I'm so grounded and at peace...I know, even the logic doesn't work. It's all story.

Happy Thanksgiving.