Clawing my way back onto the happy wagon

No matter how fast or slow the wagon moves along, there's always a chance of falling off. Sometimes, I'll peak over the edge of the carriage to see just how far down it is to the bottom, other times I'll lay back, snug and secure, and make make faces out of the clouds above. I don't know what compels me to hurl myself off, but from time to time, it seems like the thing to do, but it never turns out to be a good idea. I think I snuck off the happy wagon sometime during my thesis writing and forgot to take notice of what direction it took. I always forget that I need to wait for it to come to me. If I chase it, it moves faster, grows thorns, and hides down dark alley ways. It's only when I remember to let go that I have the firmest grip.