Shoes.

I’m supposed to be going to bed right now. Remember when you were a kid and you hated bed time? I used to sneak to the landing of the stairs and listen to my dad talk with my older sisters late at night (Ten was late for me back then). I was always so jealous they got to stay up. Now I’m jealous of seven-year-old Johnson; he got to go to bed early.

It’s not even that I can’t go to bed right now. I’m an adult, I go to bed whenever I want. “whenever I want” means I torture myself with being awake late into the night because I want to write the blog. You always have to choose in life I guess. Today’s choice is sleep or torture.

Life is pain, I guess.

Well hopefully this isn’t torture for you. If reading this was torture I’d wonder why you’re still here.

Then again, you might have stopped reading a while ago.

I think I’m most inspired when I’m close to sleep. When my eyes are just on the edge of shutting and I can barely see the screen of my laptop, that’s when the magic happens.

So, what to write about? God, I don’t know. I guess I’m a man without a purpose right now, huh? Just kind of shuffling my thoughts out there onto paper. Though, I do have one thought I’d love to run by you.

Shoes.

Yeah, shoes. Do you like your shoes? I don’t. I hate them. I think they’re the bane of my entire existence.

I’m not talking about my normal “day-to-day” shoes. Those are great! I’m talking about my work shoes. The black leather dungeons that I send my feet to for punishment. I worked a double shift at my job yesterday in those moccasins. I mean I wish they were moccasins. Anything would have been better than Wal-Mart’s soul crushing sole crushers.

After only an hour of standing on my feet I felt like hell itself had perfectly aligned the soles of these shoes for maximum punishment. If Dante was writing this, he’d say the first level of hell is where they make these shoes. 

Now a reasonable person might say that I shouldn’t complain. That I should just buy another pair of shoes and be done with this. I am not a reasonable person at the moment, though. Those shoes took the decency out of me. If I sound extra passionate in this blog it’s because I am. Right now I have an animalistic desire to survive. To survive putting on those shoes day after day. To defeat them. To make them my slave. I could just buy a different pair, I could do a lot of things.  But right now, this very minute, I own the pain.

The shoes will not win.

Plus the pair I ordered online won’t arrive for another week.

Sometimes your shoes are out to get you. There’s no real logic to it either. Is it the amount of padding? Is it the heel to toe ratio? Is it the material? What is it about those shoes that makes my feet melt into pain and blisters?

The cat is eating my backpack. I better stop him before he chokes on a zipper.

Don’t buy cheap shoes.

Don’t eat backpacks.

 

Photo by Manki Kim on Unsplash

 

 

 

 

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