Today was exhausting. I worked 8 hours on my feet at my retail job in SoHo. As much as I love people, it’s emotionally taxing to be “on” for 8 hours straight with a smile on my face. Towards the end of my shift, I was pretty grumpy. On my train ride home, my grumpiness continued when I realized the train had no seats left – like always. I had to stand for twenty more minutes, shoulder to shoulder with stinky strangers. I acknowledge that these are prime examples of first world problems. But as someone in recovery, the slightest thing can put me over the edge.
I stood there with my eyes closed, picturing myself taking a bath while drinking a glass of wine. This delusional thought was so relaxing, I may have even smiled. When the train slammed on its brakes to let me off at my stop, I was brought right back to reality: I. Can’t. Drink. Wine was never even my drink of choice, I was more of a Jack Daniels straight from the bottle kind of gal (#classy).
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