I feel like if you looked hard enough, even if you hadn’t known about the storm on Tuesday, you’d have known something tore things up around here.

Summer, almost twilight, and finally, a few more kids out in front yards. I was a little distracted by my music ((we’ll get to more of that later)), and quickly inched over as an SUV sidled up from behind. It was very much like things were stirring. And then, I looked up.

Above, the beaten ring of a basketball hoop hung halfheartedly from its backboard. A group of tattered, bruised balloons were draped at the edge of the ring, a tangle of dingy, graying ribbons bunched around the knots. One of them was red.

When I looked up at the street, I saw so many more of these street hoops scattered along the block than I have in the last few months. Some were missing hoops altogether. Others had remnants of ripped rope hanging limply from the hoop. One was on its side on the lawn, the pole bent in a slightly grotesque manner.

Further down and around a corner or two, the golf course was surprisingly empty for a night this nice. One man stood too many yards away from me for me to see if he was looking at his phone or if he was just staring out at the course. I looked up at the trees that line the other side of the fence, noticing their silhouettes were more jagged. And then, everything smelled like pine.

The fence was torn open. Just behind, the stump of a tree, a jagged cut about 10 feet up, exposing the pale belly underneath the bark. I remembered its other half lying across the road. It was gone now, but not without a trace—the entire stretch of grass and walkway was littered with branches, sticks, twigs, tufts of pine needles. I didn’t know one tree could produce so many pinecones. All these dejected things, like they all knew it wasn’t time for them to be on the ground just yet.

There was a literal metaphor strewn around the neighborhood.

It felt like there was a ton of potential a couple of weeks ago. Like all of our individual globes might start spinning again, even if a little off-kilter at first. Now, the hoops are broken. I don’t know about you, but I most certainly looked forward to seeing more of my friends. Now, I’m back to staring at my phone or staring into nothing at all, wondering where the hell everyone is.

Wasn’t this all supposed to be over? Can we not figure out what’s wrong because maybe everyone is wrong? Why does the whole place look different? Like you looked up and you’re in some thick forest and you can tell no one’s walked through it in awhile?

Tonight’s walk felt necessary after one of the worst weeks. I don’t just say that personally—it seems like everyone’s week sucked. It’s disheartening. Summer is supposed to be like magic. I know I’m biased because it’s my favorite season, but things just usually feel better here. But it’s starting to not feel so much better.

I’ve been staving off what will likely be an inevitable storm of tears. Attempting to stave off, anyway. I’ve been mostly successful. But it’s not if it’s coming—it’s when.

Why does that sound familiar?

I’m listening to my brain argue with itself. So far, we’re still relatively neutral in the tug of war. So, I took a walk. Because those help. And I knew I’d listen to a podcast ep that I hadn’t yet finished, because it was already hilarious and the hosts are my fav. But before I flipped to the episode, I put on Taylor Swift. I’ve been listening to “folklore” for two weeks, nearly nonstop. Fucking Taylor Swift. I was never an insane fan. Girlfriend could write a good song. Could take or leave. Now? Just fuck you, Taylor Swift. I was basically teenage-girl-level obsessed with “Lover.” The songs on that album were just so good. Like even if I didn’t love the melody or the chorus, the lyrics were all just so good. Like I wanted to stamp my feet and bitch about why I never thought to put those phrases together like that. “Lover” was still on my regular rotation when homegirl went and dropped this “surprise.” Surprise, indeed, motherfucker.

Again, I like almost every song on it, but there are two or three that I continue to replay. When I looked up at that basketball hoop, “cardigan” was playing, and I figured out why I keep hitting repeat.

“cardigan” sounds like depression.

Like if there were a tangible metaphor for what mine feels like, anyway. Maybe the mood is overall a little somber, even if there are some charming upbeat details in its background. And even when I can’t decide how it makes me feel, I still have favorite parts that I love to sing. To me, that song feels like teetering. Nope. Oh, we aren’t going to start thinking about that.

Teetering.

I swear, if I could run away from my brain sometimes—not even just the Scumbag side—I would. Too bad there’s literally no escape. Too bad I suck at running, anyway.

Teetering.

Is that what’s happening? Is that why I keep trying to push back that one emo breakdown? Or has the overall tone of the last week just been more overwhelming to me than I thought? Because it’s sad, what I feel. But when I try to pinpoint why, all the other reasons why I am still good keep bubbling up. So it doesn’t quite feel as all-encompassing…yet?

Do you think there’s really a breaking point? Like, for everyone? If there is, will we always wind up at its precipice? Is it inevitable that, at least at one point within your lifetime, you’re going to tumble over it?

This is the idea I’m grappling with today. And I’m paying more attention to my distractions. Times when I let you overrun the conversation because maybe you need to, and it’s easier to think about what you’re talking about than what I’m feeling. Flipping on comedies I’ve seen a billion times and looking forward to the parts that make me laugh the hardest. Taking too long to decide what book I’m reading next. Thinking over and over and over again about the words I’m going to put down on paper, the characters who I’m going to finally lead to their endings. Behaviors I might try changing.

And blog posts that I should be writing.