Once a month I think I'm crazy and then I realize that once a month I think I'm crazy. And that makes me feel a little better.
Only it doesn't really.
And then I think about my demons. I don't have big scary demons. Just little annoying ones that dance around a fire getting drunk late at night. And I know I should hate these demons.
Only I don't really.
Sometimes I really like them. I invite them in and feed them dinner and laugh at their jokes, like they're proper house guests.
Only they're not really. And I know it.
Some people have REAL demons that they struggle with. They spend years working hard, sweating without time to wipe their foreheads, to get rid of their deadly demons. My demons fortunately aren't hurting anyone.
Only I know that's not really true.
And the demons will dance on my grave in a drunken stupor. And everyone will say, "I knew it."
Only they didn't.
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