Vulnerability

I remember when my car was broken into in Chicago. I felt ashamed, I felt embarrassed, I knew it was my fault, my carelessness. But then I realized it didn't matter, because I could fix it and no one had to know.

Now things are broken, it's my fault, my carelessness and I haven't the means to fix them, without telling other people. Things are so broken I don't know where to start and starting little things, like sorting the mail, means facing not only up to the extent to which I've fucked things up, but to the very real possibility of needing someone to fix them for me.

I'm almost thirty four years old.