i am broken.
or at least my elbows are.
or my shirts.
or me. probably me.
you see, it happened again. a tear in my right elbow. i blame the shirt because that’s easy. then i try to explain it. pointy elbows. overwashing. thin fabric.
i grumble over instant coffee. i IM things like i’m broken. a friend googles my predicament. she gives me a list of reasons i never thought. she says, it happens, buy more shirts.
i mumble and say i’m broken.
this is the fifth shirt, at least, that has torn in this way. usually it’s when i’m stretching. the sleeve gets caught in the crux of my elbow and suddenly i hear it and i cringe and think naughty words. then in hulk-like-fashion i squeeze my forearm to my bicep and revel in the sound of fabric tearing – fibers freeing themselves from each other to relieve the pressure.
i am broken.
there’s something OCD inside me that won’t let me fix these tears. they are not on a seam and the tailor tells me they will look wrong. my friend tells me that no one will notice, no one will ever know.
but i’ll know. i’ll see the tear crudely rectified with the wrong color string. i’ll feel the fear of opening the wound again with just a slight twitch of my elbow.
from google i learn that it’s because of the way my keyboard and desk is positioned. my right elbow, the one that always tears, rubs against my desk surface routinely, every day i wear it. since i only have five shirts, this happens every week and after 45 weeks it is bound to happen. it will tear because no fabric can handle this much abuse.
i am broken.
i don’t notice things falling apart. i don’t notice things breaking, only things that are broken. i can fix what is broken, but noticing and preempting the breaking is hard for me. until it breaks is it really a problem?
it’s not really about the shirt, because a shirt is just a shirt, but it is about something inside me that’s broken. something inside me that doesn’t notice when things are breaking. that doesn’t notice when the trend is angled downward not flat lined or going up. something inside me that accepts things as they are, even if as they are isn’t very good.
maybe it’s time to think about the things that are breaking, that are waiting for that moment when the pressure breaks through via a tear in the fabric and i am forced to look at it for what it is: something broken.
there’s nothing wrong with broken things, it’s the way of humanity, but there’s something wrong with discarding the broken when it can be fixed, isn’t there? maybe i’ll take this shirt to mama and ask her to heal it, ask her to make it whole again, make it fixed.
a glimpse into my mind:
i wanted to end it with this line:
these are the things i think as i take out the trash, unbutton the shirt, and throw it in after the used up kleenexes and coffee grounds.
it didnt’t feel right though. it felt against the things i really think, but somehow it fits the actions i do most times. and this, in and of itself is an interesting thing.
i wrestled, a lot, with this idea of wanting to fix broken things but not putting forth the effort. do you wrestle with this? do you want to fix things but don’t? what is broken that should be fixed? what is this really about if not a shirt?
I struggle with this regarding relationships but, sometimes the repair is allowing space and the right of others making their choice and being responsible for their actions, that applies to me as well.
Deborah, thank you for reading and sharing. relationships are a fickle thing, aren’t they? glad to know i’m not alone in my struggle.
I love this. It’s beautiful and tragic. And I’m actually going to write something kinda, sorta similar, maybe? But you’re right, it’s not about a shirt.
beautiful and tragic, that sounds like me…only maybe less on the beautiful side. can’t wait to read whatever you write. always.
I think it’s about the things that are beyond our control… that reduce us to helpless wringing of hands. How can you be the victor, not the victim in the shirt situation…hmmmm. Roll up your right sleeve, or, for the sake of symmetry, BOTH sleeves? When my brother was in high school my Mom was always cutting off his sleeves. Ha! Now I know why. God, he had SO MANY short-sleeve shirts. Would those be “dork sleeve” shirts today? Because if it wouldn’t get you beat up you could wear those in the summer, and Cosby sweaters in winter! Or those man sweaters with patches on the elbows! And really…you should have more than five shirts to rotate. Buying more shirts means buying each shirt more time! NOW who’s in control?? xo
hahaha i love this so much! i did roll my sleeves up, but i am deathly afraid of short sleeve button down shirts…ever since middle school. there’s probably a deep seeded psychological problem there that i’ve yet to uncover in my typing sessions.
and yes, yes, i know i need to buy more shirts. it’s just…being a grown up can be so taxing, June.
Wow, we must be cut from the same cloth (pun intended). I have a similar problem with my right knee. I can’t tell you how many pairs of pants I’ve worn out and it’s always the right knee.
Unlike you, I haven’t made it a quest of discovery yet. No Googling yet. Just sighs followed by, “Well, it happened again.”
I can’t blame my desk. Nor can I blame the fact that I work on my knees all day, which is, in fact, NOT a fact. For me, this is all just part of the great unknown.
Your post, however, lets me know that I am not alone in my brokeness. Not that it fixes anything. But the company is nice.
Thanks for your writing.
thanks for reading, Rich, and for sharing in my brokeness. it’s good to have company even it doesn’t fix things. sometimes the company through the problem is more rewarding than the actual solution to the problem.
good luck with those pants!