Easier to laugh than cry.

Don't know, my fellow compatriots, whether to take J. as a pathetic or a comical character.  Maybe a little bit of both. She refuses to allow me to carry in her bags. From the car. She's quite adamant about it.  Which makes me suspicious. There's something which she doesn't want me to see. Wine. Because she knows that she'll need it. For her daily fix. Of course, she's ashamed of it. Doesn't want to announce to the world. That she's an alcoholic. Doesn't even want to admit it to herself. Yes, pathetic. And comical.  For J's  sake,  I want to laugh. Rather than cry.  All of us close to J. know that she has a serious drinking problem. And here we are. Stuck. Not knowing how to deal with our dear friend J. The real difficulty. Is that I know. If I were king and ruled by divine right, J.  would be committed. Without a moment's delay. To Hazelden. For 30 days of alcohol rehab treatment. I would find a way to get J. to recognize that she's an alcoholic. Meanwhile, I'm being momentarily judged by J. as her enemy. The gestapo. Yes, that's what she's calling me. The gestapo. Funny. Funny. I'm not the least bit angry. I'm laughing. Because it's so much easier to laugh than cry. --Jim Broede