It's not fair. She's off frolicking in Italy, exploring Rome and I'm stuck, early in the morning (8:30 am is early for me) in frigid NYC! All she had to do is write a petition to God, name some names, take a nap and ZIP, her husband signs the divorce papers and BING BANG BOOM, she's off to Italy.
Of course, the skeptic in me is protesting, crying, "how can it be so easy?!" God's love is that easy, I guess. Skepticism and doubt - the evil agents of fear. And then I'm doubting my own choices: marriage, moving in with my fiancee. I guess I believe that God gave her to me . . . and He better not be fooling me! This better not be a metaphysical slight of hand! Well, give me upheaval, then!
Liz had to have her spiritual experience. I've had/am having mine. We both had our jumping off points.
Why do adventures always seem to come to people who can afford them? But, did not Liz work to afford her adventures? There must have been a time when she was broke and in school, a time when she was writing for a crappy newspaper. If she's been affluent all her life, I'll be pissed! Then, her story will just be another flight of fancy by a rich person who gets everything they want anyway. All they have to do is want it. "Wah! my husband hates me now and wants all my stuff!" Boo hoo! I'm sure the impoverished, raped and pillaged masses feel your pain. They, too, get their Hudson Valley houses taken away and their TribeCa apartment overlooking the Lincoln Tunnel. One car? Nooo, they had two cars, too!
Now, I'm being obnoxious. Actually, I was being obnoxious a few lines ago. My mind needs to compartmentalize this. It needs to judge her, to tear her down, so my fragile ego feels better. I see miracles every day in recovery, but I can't accept this one? It's too easy! Instead of moving towards a miracle of my own, I judge hers.
It's fear. Fear of wanting it so bad. I did. I do. I want mine so bad I cried. Now, bitterness has crept back in.
I want to look up Liz's bio on-line so I can judge her some more. Then, I can feel justified sitting in this crappy state of uncertainty and (let's call it what it is) fear. I ought to feel more grateful for my job. But, I'm not. So there. There it is.
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