Sunday, November 24, 2013

Later, I found a hole in my pocket

So I was walking to school today, and I realized there was a rock in my shoe. Winter's finally hit the area, and I wasn't about to take off the shoe to loosen the offending pebble right there on the sidewalk. Instead, I grin and bear it for the remaining distance. The problem with having a rock in your shoe, though, is that once you notice it consciously, once you go beyond "my foot hurts" to "hey, there's a rock in my shoe," then the annoyance factor increases by at least 100 Erkels. (I am a child of the 90s, and I WILL measure annoyances in Erkels. It is my right.) It doesn't hurt, not really. Even when jogging with a rock in my shoe, I can't go so far as to say it actually hurts. It's more that it lingers. It dwells. It insiduates. The knowledge that there something lodged in your shoe builds and grows. And if you can't get it out immediately, it becomes the pot you're waiting to boil. The scab you can't pick. The itch you can't scratch. Simply by existing, it infuriates. And the extra kicker here is--I didn't have a rock in my shoe at all! I got to the office, thrust off the shoe, shook it all asunder--and nothing came out. I put the shoe back on and the feeling persists. I check again. Nothing in the shoe. I put it back on. It persists. And then I realized that I still felt the encumbrance even when the shoe was off. I checked my sock, and.... sure enough... a dime came out. How about that?

Later Days.

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