The tire has begun to weigh heavily on my thoughts. The tire begins to symbolize everything that is wrong. The tire mocks my best efforts. I panic when I think of the tire. Like: am I supposed to do something here? Is action expected of me? And if so, what? One can�t just throw a tire away, right? One must recycle tires. Where does this happen? Is there a charge? And if there is a charge, how is it fair that I have to pay it when someone just dumped this tire at the end of my driveway? Can�t I just dump the tire at the end of someone else�s driveway? Would that make me a bad citizen (yes, yes, of course)? Every time I peek out my window, It. Is. Still. There.

And then my thoughts begin to stray. For instance, I think about how I used to spend so much time worrying about those emergency broadcast tests on the TV and the radio. Because what if this weren�t just a test, but a real emergency in which action is required of me? Couldn�t I just turn the radio and/or TV off and then no one would expect anything of me? And would that make me a bad citizen?

And then there�s the fact that I have to go to the dentist, that I was supposed to go back in November and that I even had an appointment but that I cancelled it. And I have to go to the doctor. I had an appointment for that, too. Will they find out? And who is they, anyway?

Once, in my first apartment in Florida, a worker guy, employed by my landlord, showed up to do some work outside. He knocked at my door and I didn�t answer. In fact, I crept into my bedroom and lay on the floor until he went away. He knocked for a very long time. I think he knew I was home. I think he knew.

And then I realize that I never invite anyone to my house. Three people (ok--3 people who reside in the city in which I currently live--out-of-towners don't count) have ever been to my house. Am I half-way to being a shut-in? Or an agoraphobe? Which? Which?

Round and round I go like crazy string, like a tether ball.

That fucking tire.