7th
Guilty Conscience
Last I left off I was traveling the globe with a very kind, very generous, very awesome human being. He loved me a lot. I loved him too. A whirlwind romance led to cohabitation in an apartment most people only dream of living in. Things were pretty good.
Then I went back to work.
The thing about working on the road is that you live in the moment. You have no choice. You get stuck with a dozen people who work hard, and you work just as hard. These people become your family. When you have down time you play hard. Sometimes you play so hard that you wake up in someone else’s bed.
When that happens, you feel like a piece of shit. You feel so awful that when you get home to your man it’s all over your face. The guilt. When he confronts you about it you inevitably lie - because you drank SO much that you can’t even remember what happened. But you know you fucked up. Eventually your man digs the truth out of you and you feel numb.
You pack your shit. You move out. You go back on the road and forget that you’re a piece of shit asshole. Then you come home to an empty house and remember why you’re in an empty house. The cycle repeats itself and you can’t wait to get back on the road, where everything at home doesn’t matter.
Guilt is a motherfucker.
