It’s as though my brakes don’t work, and I keep skidding into mayhem. Instead of slowing down and moving out of harm’s way, I react and swerve and crash. Instead of apologizing, I whip out my middle finger and accelerate.

I could hire a chauffeur to take me everywhere, activate the child locks on the doors and windows.

I could stay parked in a garage, or I could wear a big warning on my shirt: Watch Out! No brakes!!!

The best thing to do is to change my life circumstances in healthy ways. Oh. How hard I’ve been trying.

Meanwhile, notice given. Read at your own risk.

My brake pads are worn to a crisp.