Whilst I know that there are more important things in life than high heels, I know that my passion for them is entirely superficial and that in the great scheme of life, they are irrelevant - no matter how irrelevent - I love them.
High heels to me are like Prozac to others. No matter how taxing life is, it seems utterly bearable in 5 inch heels. Life on the flat is frankly, dull.
Weekend four of flats and I find myself cleaning the car. It was like being married. So utterly mind blowingly, arse achingly dull - that if I even considered whether I should embrace impending doom and go to the garden centre. I choose Life and jet washed the wheel arches instead.
Then it struck me how easy it is to give up life in a marriage. Before you know it, you are living a life of humdrum, jut because slipping into parody mode is all to simple one in the years following the trip up the aisle.
If I have to cosign myself to anymore of my life slipping into a role that I feel that I am supposed to slip into, then take me forest way and dart me.
I miss my heels. I simply like the new perspective they have given me.
I felt a little guilty today. Perhaps I had proven the thoughts of others by shutting a door firmly shut. I have been fighting the feeling of mild guilt all day.
I think healthy is when you don't have to to leave the door ajar but someone chooses to break it down. Who knows but I suspect that I am a perplexing individual.
Short, but perplexing
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