infidelity

I am in love. Again. It happens yearly. Apparently, I just can’t commit, because every spring I fall in love all over again, after swearing her off from October to April. But then every year we meet up again at the May Day Parade, and our torrid affair starts all over.

Infidelity is like pissing in your bed. It seems right at the time. Maybe because you're asleep. And dreaming about waterfalls.

Eventually, you wake up pissy and pissed, and ask yourself, "How did I let myself do that?"