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“I thought, just tell this guy whatever he wants to hear. You only have fifteen days left of this twenty-eight-day sentence. “I guess you’re going to get me clean and sober,” I said flippantly. Exasperated, he said, “What would you do if you were me?” I cocked my head and said, “But I’m not you.” He sat back in his leather chair, folded his hands on the desk, and leaned toward me. “You do know, Stephen, that the foundation of your life is built on addiction quicksand, and the more you struggle, the faster you’ll sink?” I had to admit it; I had no witty comeback.” — Stephen H. Donnelly
I thought, just tell this guy whatever he wants to hear. You only have fifteen days left of this twenty-eight-day sentence.
“I guess you’re going to get me clean and sober,” I said flippantly.
Exasperated, he said, “What would you do if you were me?” I cocked my head and said, “But I’m not you.”
He sat back in his leather chair, folded his hands on the desk, and leaned toward me. “You do know, Stephen, that the foundation of your life is built on addiction quicksand, and the more you struggle, the faster you’ll sink?”
I had to admit it; I had no witty comeback.