The existential musings of a restless soul, caught between the "40 miles down the road" and the "cabinet corked."

Your poem is a labyrinth of emotions and questions, each stanza a room with a different shade of doubt or yearning. "Am I supposed to be happy? Are we even worth it?" you ask.

Ah, the million-dollar questions! You're like a modern-day Socrates, but instead of hemlock, you're sipping on the intoxicating brew of life's uncertainties. Stick with it, karate kid; your poem is a dojo of the human condition.