Six Metaphors over Georgia

I am on the commitment rollercoaster. The nail-biting ride up the hill clickety-clickety-click--click---click when you're heart's pounding and you're thinking, "Oh, god, this was a terrible idea, why did I do this, I have to get off!" is where I am most of the time. But then, of course, the track peaks, the car tips, and you're careening down the other side, and even though it's scary it's exhilarating, you feel free and good and you can't help but laugh and shriek in delight. That's the part that keeps me around. But it never stays that way, and inevitably I wind up creeping up the next hill again. It's making me a bit nauseous. I just want to get off the ride and get on with my real life. This rollercoaster can't last forever. Eventually you roll back into the station, climb out, wobble around a bit, and then go buy cotton candy and get on with the day. Sadly the question remains: will I be walking to the Snack Shack swinging hands with Atlas, or will I be walking to the Snack Shack alone?