I finally feel okay. I feel like I can handle it all. Everything. Things are not so bad, I think. Nothing is quite out of my reach. I hope. It's like everything is getting back on track. I'm moving forward again. I'm doing good things. I'm getting caught up in my classwork. It feels good. I'm helping my friends out.
"Do you have my saxophone?" My friend asked me. I thought about it. "No," I answered. "She gave it back to you back in high school when she got her new saxophone." "I think she still has it." He said. I knew she didn't, but asked anyway. "Damn." He said. "Don't worry, we'll find it." I told him. So I looked. I thought about all the possibilities. Where is the last place you saw it, I asked myself. The high school. "Did you check the high school?" I asked him. He never responded. I went to the high school on unrelated business and ran into an old friend. His saxophone looked familiar. "Guess what this is." He urged me. "What." I answered. "It's his saxophone." He had left it there the entire time. I called him later. "I found your saxophone," I told him. "It was at the high school." "Ah!" He said. "Thank you, man!" "No problem."
I never saw him step out of the car. In fact, I didn't even see him inside the car. Or outside, for that matter. When I stepped out of my car, though, there he was. "Hey man." I said. "Thank you so much." He said. "Dude, seriously. Don't worry about." I handed it to him. "Thanks man, I'll hav--" "Don't worry about it." I said, cutting him off. It was the truth. I wasn't worried about it. I hadn't even thought about the future implications of that transaction. And I didn't care.
It feels good to be doing good things again. There's a plan. I'm following it again. I don't care what the consequences are for me. If I'm going to be self-destructive, I might as well do something good in the meantime.
"Do you have my saxophone?" My friend asked me. I thought about it. "No," I answered. "She gave it back to you back in high school when she got her new saxophone." "I think she still has it." He said. I knew she didn't, but asked anyway. "Damn." He said. "Don't worry, we'll find it." I told him. So I looked. I thought about all the possibilities. Where is the last place you saw it, I asked myself. The high school. "Did you check the high school?" I asked him. He never responded. I went to the high school on unrelated business and ran into an old friend. His saxophone looked familiar. "Guess what this is." He urged me. "What." I answered. "It's his saxophone." He had left it there the entire time. I called him later. "I found your saxophone," I told him. "It was at the high school." "Ah!" He said. "Thank you, man!" "No problem."
I never saw him step out of the car. In fact, I didn't even see him inside the car. Or outside, for that matter. When I stepped out of my car, though, there he was. "Hey man." I said. "Thank you so much." He said. "Dude, seriously. Don't worry about." I handed it to him. "Thanks man, I'll hav--" "Don't worry about it." I said, cutting him off. It was the truth. I wasn't worried about it. I hadn't even thought about the future implications of that transaction. And I didn't care.
It feels good to be doing good things again. There's a plan. I'm following it again. I don't care what the consequences are for me. If I'm going to be self-destructive, I might as well do something good in the meantime.
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