It's like when you know you shouldn't date that person, but you can't resist their dark eyes, the shape of their fingers. That last vodka tonic after you knew you'd reached your limit. The second, or third, piece of cake. The gaucho pants that were on the clearance rack. The W tattoo. The agreement to jump off the bridge if all your other friends would.
The 2a.m. burrito. The white pants on the 27th day of your cycle. The devil-may care way you said "We won't run out of gas before we get home....." The Boston fern over the bathtub. The cartwheel on the wet driveway. Saying yes to the first guy who asked you to the prom even though he wasn't your first choice.
It's the way Sean Hannity is going to feel for aligning himself with George Zimmerman whose case just seems to get sketchier and sketchier.
It's giving away your art deco buffet because you just didn't feel like loading it onto the truck.....the perm you let your mom talk you into, the decision not to take the insurance on your cellphone.
Every day. Every single day I do this with my nemesis I75. And every single day I remember what a dumbass I am for thinking I can beat the odds, that I won't be thinking unkind thoughts about whomever caused the accident that has resulted in the bumper to bumper clusterfuck that is the worst commute in the nation. I lament the fact that they don't have formal drivers' education here, that the public transportation system is pretty much nonexistent and, of course, I berate myself for once again for forgetting that the back roads aren't just more scenic. They're more efficient, too.
At least when I'm sitting in traffic, I've got music like this to cheer me.
Ever wish you'd taken a different route?
