I had a crappy day. I tried to help a kid whose current awful situation painfully mirrors one I experienced in my youth and I ended up helpless and frustrated and in tears. And in the end there's just nothing I can do for this kid. It's not my place and I have no legal standing. And even though I pushed everyone away who tried to be there for me tonight, here I am feeling ridiculously and unreasonably abandoned and sorry for myself with a bottle of wine, a jar of peanuts and a bag of dark chocolate chips at my feet. Which leads me to this post. In a probably vain attempt to cheer myself up, I decided to post about one of my inane and amusing (to me) hobbies - photographing me feet. The rationale? Well, I can't very well take a good photo of myself with my own camera, can I? Oh but I
can photograph my feet:
My feet while roasting coffee in my back yard:
My feet at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago:
My feet at my office:
My feet at home:
My feet at Fenway for a Yankees v. Red Sox game (and that's my Mom's foot to the left):
And in case you hadn't noticed, I like garishly colored and patterned shoes:
Nope, still feel like crap. Time to enlist the big guns - Jaws III.
2 comments:
As usual, High Priestess of Java, you have shown yourself to be darkly complex and oh-so cute at the same time -- an eloquent description of despair, followed by snappy images of multi-colored footwear.
I won't belittle your pain by asking you to smile or smell the roses, but that damn, pain-in-the-ass sage in me compels me to have you read your last two posts and at the end of each one, say simply, this too shall pass.
Thanks. I guess what kills me is that it doesn't matter if it all the depression passes for me since this kid, who is a beautiful, brilliant child, will still be going through this crap and she really, really, really doesn't deserve it.
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