Plight of the Feet

Here us now!

We are sore, and don't claim rest and recuperation! Get new shoes!


The feet are right. I need to get out of the habit of buying cheap shoes (which I spelled schools the first time I typed it, sup with that Freud?) and go back to buying shoes that are cute and well built. I have a bruise caused by my shoes, under my big toenail, you know the one toenail that you can't just cut off and be done with it.

My feet are especially angry after about an hour of numbness at the gym. They think that tennis shoes that fit my foot structure might be better than ones that my feet fit into and were on clearance at Ross. And though my feet know how I've been working this past year they've somehow neglected to consider the financial impact of all the work and all the bad shoes.

I wonder if I could find a podiatrist?

 Don't be silly feet, I'm too cheap to pay to see a doctor!

Sleep Deprived and Accident Prone

I shouldn't whine about working, as I continuously chant my mantra "Happy to have a job." But the news says things are turning around and all I'm seeing is more of the same thing. Also, working all the time has made me a bit short and craven of routine (I just wanted Monday to be like Monday, is that so hard to do?). My seven day a week schedule has me so messed up by 8:30 PM I'm staring waiting for the clock to strike an appropriate sleep hour.

Even with seven or so hours of sleep a night I've become accident prone. We have the previously discussed ankle/screw injury, yesterday a mysterious crescent shaped laceration appeared on my palm (today it is purple and really sore), and then this morning in the shower I discovered a long bloody gash down the back of my right arm. It had scabbed so it wasn't terribly fresh, but with the exception of the short time it took me to get into my pjs yesterday I had been in long sleeves for 24 plus hours.

I fear my car is next or I'll lose an eye. I've turned into a weepy mess any time I'm alone but I'm agitated when people are around. Every night I sit on the couch and turn on the tele thinking it's Thursday. No lie, Monday I even asked my younger sister why the normal Thursday programming wasn't on.

I now know why there are people who drink heavily everyday. I can't, my jeans are a large enough size as is, but the idea of continuing on like this is disheartening, the future is bleak. Basically I fear I've dug myself into a hole of resignation and will live there working two part-time jobs, living with my mother and lamenting both of these things for the rest of my life.

Some days this fear is motivation, some it is just the opposite but I need a change, if only to keep my mystery injuries at bay.

Spruced up the Resume Today

My new resume includes my other blog.. noboomerangleftbehind.blogspot.com and my four, count them four, pants fit certs.

So I Forgot.

You remember my little latex rant?

Yeah the whole reason I wrote it was in part due to a bandaid emergency at work. I had sprung a leak in my latex-free paster (which is much closer to the reality of my bandage than the typical bandaid) and needed a new one to keep my pantyhose from becoming soiled by goop. I went to put the fresh one one, I'm talking bathroom one leg out of my pantyhose (work required folks, so not a personal choice here) ripping the packing open only too wonder if the lovely thing was latex-fee. It wasn't, to be sure. And on top of it there was the handy dandy warning against reaction.

Though no one saw me, I was thoroughly embarrassed by the whole episode (which is why I'm writing it in a conspicuous place like the internet) but survived.

So tell me big world, why is latex still infesting everything when it is a common enough allergy that it has it's own warning label?

Yeah, that's what I thought, makes no sense. Neither does having to remind the dentist that not changing gloves could kill me.

My Curse to Carry

The embarrassment of having to explain the severity of my allergy and blushing while people, oblivious to how impossibly prude I really am, make less than awesome references to dirty, dirty sex. It's hard to explain why, at 23, when I say "No, I was blowing up balloons for my roommates' (that apostrophe  is correct.) boyfriend's roommate's birthday," I blush. I'm not lying, though it wasn't my first reaction to latex, it was the the reaction that cemented in my mind the source of my allergy.

(My first, if you much know, was in my AP Bio class during our two plus week fetal pig dissection. Those things are swimming in formalin and filled with latex...tasty. )

I, though it is easier said than done, must rise above my embarrassment and be the voice of the anti-latex movement. So here goes.

Restaurants, stores, birthday parties, pens we need to talk. Balloons kill. And I'm not just talking about grown-up baby cancer patients, dolphins and penguins. I'm talking about eating, shopping, aging, writing human beings without an over exposure problem. Please cruel world, help us. Stop poisoning the air with your gaiety. 

Slips of the Tongue or The Beauty of English as a Second Language

Back story: Yesterday I was pulling a rack of clothing behind me at work, restocking the holes that had formed in the course of the week, when I ran the rack into my ankle. This happens often enough, but instead of just a super painful bruise from the bar, a screw tore a chunk of flesh from the back of my ankle. I bled, a lot. And six bandaids, a wad of gauze and a ruined show I pulled it together with three butterflies and went about the next five or so hours as best I could. I found those special blister bandaids and have used those to seal the mess.

Today I was working my job and at this job I have to wear pantyhose. Halfway through the day my ankle is leaking through its seal so I tell one of the ladies I work with. I tell her the back story and she says

What, were you trying to screw yourself?

I'm always afraid hablar Español  because I have horrid slip ups. Admittedly, I cannot put enough words together to form anything as funny as this slip up.  But my Indian coworker has been in the US for ten or so years and her English is nearly impeccable. But the slang things they're always harder. So I had a bit of a giggle at her expense. She was kind enough to laugh along with me recognizing her blunder.

I'm jealous of her ability to speak fluently in more than one language. But I was not, as she said, trying to screw myself. I was merely trying to get my job done so I could go home. And I got a seepy wound. Seepy is  gross, grosser than everything else except for seepy green. We haven't gotten to green seepy yet. Though if we do I'll take a picture and share it with you.
 

 

International Viewers

Last night China entered my audience. Already my Chinese readership has surpassed all other nations, except Canada (love you Canada) in their interest in my blog, I'm not sure if I should be ecstatic or worried. I don't think I know anyone in China who could be leading this rush.

Anyways, hello China!