I let my library books linger so long that the fines topped $100; I don’t read anymore. I let my medical bills go to collections. I never bothered getting those cavities filled. I started writing only unpublishable stories. I quit my job, I gave up my passion. I quit cooking, quit cleaning, developed a television addiction. I lost my ability to be alone. I stayed in therapy but I still don’t seem to be moving on, still seem stuck flat on the pavement. I don’t even care enough to reach out for help. I’m still here, but what’s the point?