From patting myself on the back.

My alcoholic friend doesn’t hesitate to give me advice. That sounds more like guff. Than words of wisdom. I do the same with her. But she  complains. Often. And blames me. And her husband. And others. For her affliction.  Everyone but herself. The world is at fault. For Julie’s unhappiness. Makes me wonder. Why I’m reasonably happy. Yes, in love. With life. I wonder who should take the blame –errr, I mean credit – for that. All I know. Is that I have a sore arm. Maybe from patting myself on the back. --Jim Broede