I’m in love. I know I say that about fifty times a week, over everything from Gingernuts to stray cats, but this time it’s for real. FO’ REAL. I’m in fo’ real love (which everybody knows is the truest kind of love), and yet somehow I walked away. It hurts in my chest like a bronchial infection. I can’t think. Can’t focus. I feel like I’ve ruined everything; like a piece of me is missing.
I just want us to be together. IS THAT SO WRONG, GOD? Or, more accurately: IS THAT SO WRONG, VISA?
Visa thinks I can get fucked.
Sucks to be us, Dream Shoes. Our epic love has been mowed down in the first flower of its youth by the callous, cruel gods of personal finance. At least until pay day, when I decide whether my car needs a warrant more than I need your sweet, sweet embrace. Fingers crossed!
You know, sometimes I say to Kelly, “KELLY! I worry about my public image! I have concerns that I may appear entirely vapid and incapable of composing a paragraph without capslock or cute boys!”… and then Kelly reassures me that she often wishes I would quit banging on about the environment or the glass ceiling or whatever bee is currently in my bonnet. “You could tell the internet about those things instead,” she says to me. To which I think:
So, in the spirit of that, LOOK WHAT I DID DO GOT!:
From here. So pretty.
Also, in case anyone is keeping track (I hope no one is, because I got bored of it myself a while ago) I aced a 3.5k run last night, and I’m as proud as extra-proud punch. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s been a good three years since I was really on track with any distance (without periodic stopping to walk, I mean), and that 10k is GOING DOWN.
I still didn’t go to combat though. I think it’s become a point of pride.
Would anybody read a series of posts cataloguing my favourite pairs of shoes? Yeah, I totally don’t care how you answered. My blog, my rules. It’s SO on.