My dog, Reliable, has a bandage on his foot because he had a mishap when he got too close to the lawnmower. He cannot run in yard or chase the tennis ball. He cannot wrestle with our other dog, Tressy. He cannot take walks around the neighborhood. All of the activities that he truly loves, he cannot do. "It is for your own good," I tell him. He doesn't understand that he cannot do these things because he needs to heal. He doesn't understand that it truly is "for his own good."

For well over a year, I have been so lonely. All my connections, all my social joys, are so far from me. I drive home every night with the windows down, fantasizing a social scenario while smelling the summer air. But I arrive to a sleeping family and a computer screen glow. My weekends are fulfilled if I rent a movie or buy a book. I haven't "gone out with friends" in months. I haven't "gone out" at all, unless you count getting a coffee and staring at the poetry section in Borders. I feel bullied by life, like I was driven into this situation. I don't know if it was meant to be, or if something I did earned it. Probably a little of both. I don't even know if it is for my own good, and whether whatever is broken is healing.