Everything became broken yesterday.

The record player broke, so that I couldn't listen to the B-side of Abbey Road while I made lasagna like I wanted too. The space heater broke, so that I was cold inside and out throughout the night. I feel like a piece of me broke away; like one loose thread of a crocheted sweater that had gotten caught on something and had been unraveling slowly since. It seemed, unknowingly, all that time while I was chasing and reaching, I was only bringing about the inevitable more quickly. That by the time I realized what had been lost, I was already midriff-bare.

The only thing to do with a sweater like that is toss it, it would be better to buy a new one than try to replace the old. That doesn't mean though, that it doesn't break your heart to discard it.