Okay, we’re all familiar with the old chestnut, ‘every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings,’ from It’s A Wonderful Life.
Well, I’m no angel, but ding, ding, ding, I got wings. Mine aren’t the feathery, wispy things that flap. Mine came in the form of a black, four-door sedan with just under 70,000 miles on the odometer. I’m free as the breeze, my huckleberry friends. I can go anywhere, do anything. I don’t even need a tailwind.
You don’t think I can fly, do you? Well, fine, I can’t, I’m still a hostage to gravity. However, I’m no longer subject to car payments. I used the insurance settlement from my recent accident to buy an older, cheaper model. One with significantly fewer miles, I might add. So, believe me when I tell you, I have wings. They just weigh more and have a horn, no bell.
So that job I walked out on? Right before I totaled my car? Who cares. I can squeak by until I find a more lucrative position. Which would be any job in the world, really. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy my freedom — from stress and worry and pressure and regret.
Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must flutter off.
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