Time to go

20 years ago I got up in the middle of dinner, told my wife I had to use the restroom, walked out the kitchen door, took a taxi to SFO and spent the following 5 years drunk inside a bar in Barcelona. Why'd I do it? I can't remember but it was the best five years of my life until they threw me in the slammer for impersonating a Spanish police officer.
"Stop ranting!", my wife used to say and that's why I left her. She just couldn't tolerate all the experience and knowledge I fed her on a minute to minute basis. Where's is she now? I don't know but I shared an 8 by 8 cell with a Italian communist who smelled like cheese. He used to sing ridiculous songs about fishermen lost at sea until you wanted to reach inside your ears and pull your drums out.
When I released from prison the first thing I did was to go visit my wife in Needles to tell her why I left all those years ago. She said she was happy to see me invited me in and said she didn't care that I had left, because I was a bastard. I felt a sense a relief followed by a sense of pain as she hit me over the head with corning ware pot. When I woke up in the desert somewhere on the outskirts of needles I knew it was true that when they say you can never go back you can never go back.
I told my 4th wife I'd never leave her and she left me. So what does all this mean? I don't know but in love you can never be certain of anything but uncertainty.