Since January, there has been an almost non-stop series of horrifying realizations. After seven or so months of this, I’m very much done. They have ranged from the horrifying realization that the person across the bus aisle was actually clipping their nails on my morning commute, to the horrifying realization that someone will always pick loudly-crappy music to play on a jukebox. Then there was the horrifying realization that I peed a little on my sandal when in the wild and the horrifying realization the staff coffee really doesn’t get any better, though I try it every day.
This small sample size doesn’t even begin to convey the depths of horror I’ve dealt with for the past while. Though, to be fair, the horror is often interspersed with mortification, which is a nice change of pace. One of my more recent horrifications (is that a word? It should be) is that my lovely, lovely sandals (which suffered from my peeing in the wild adventure referenced earlier) need repaired. They are worn out with much walking. I can’t seem to part with them long enough to get repaired because I love them so very much. And so they wear out more. It’s a worse cycle than Dylan being saddened that I won’t play with toys he’s dropped in the toilet...
And my current horrification is that the Popeye coffee I’m drinking (it’s really that strong) is either highly expanding my consciousness to the point where all random topics are connected by funny paths of logic or the coffee is about to make me super-jittery. Since I’m post-breakfast and pre-lunch, I’m thinking there will soon be a whole lot of shaking going on...
An Erinku:
ankles crossed
lovingly
over my favorite
feet
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