THE SECRET JOURNAL OF NEIL PATEL #10
WARNING: NEIL ❤️S TYPOS
Last entry I mentioned motorcycles. I had no idea where it was going to take me.
I went shopping.
I looked stupid.
The salesman was way nicer to me than I deserved. He showed me everything from dirt bikes to highway cruisers.
I sat on some and marveled at others.
I tried to channel my dad, to ask him which one he liked. No answer.
Well, I guess this sort of thing isn’t supposed to be easy.
Okay, I thought it was gonna be easy. I thought I was going to buy a bike, learn to ride, and BANG, I’d be good as new.
Stupid. So stupid.
You guessed right if you think I’m feeling sorry for myself. I am. It dumb and it’s childish. Maybe I should throw a temper tantrum. asdfinaosidfnlaskdnflasndf!!!!!
Yeah. That’s me cussing. aasidnfiasndnaslkdnaskndkfnasd!!!!!
Good to get that out.
Some good news. Well, I guess it’s good news.
Ever since Doc put me on this path I’ve come to realize, slowly, that my work has suffered because of detachment.
Ummmm. Maybe ‘detachment’ was the wrong word to use. You know, because of the foot and all….
So yeah, I guess I’m in the market for a Vespa, scooter, Harley, something. More than anything I’m in the market for a change of brain venue. I wish I could snap my fingers and come out of it.
Nope. Not that easy.
I’ll work on it. And I’ll tell you ever silly detail along the way.
Because diaries are the best of friends. They don’t judge. They just listen.
So thanks for listening, Dear Diary. I hope you have juicier juice for you soon.
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