it’s hot here. with houston summer, there’s never a happy medium; people dress for the sweltering inferno outdoors, and bring a sweater for the meat lockers that all public places become when air conditioning is pumped in constantly. so i could feel myself instantly defrosting and then roasting when i came out of the office today, tearing off my sweater. my shoes sank into the blacktop, and i pictured chunks of burning, sticky blackness clinging to the soles after each step. i watched my feet as i walked to the car. they’re nice as far as feet go, i think; size nine but fairly slim, and i’m five foot eight anyhow. i’m not much for nail polish on my fingernails, but my toenails are always painted dark red. i was wearing my favorite straw sandals, which are falling apart.
it occurred to me, though, that these are the same feet i see all the time, with the same shoes and the same polish, walking the same path from car to door, door to car, car to apartment, every single day. and i wished suddenly that i could be lifted out of my own life and dropped into another, saving only myself and my friends and family. i wished i was watching my boot-clad feet as i emerged from the covent garden tube station in london, on my way to meet amanda or jessica or ryan for a drink before i headed back to my flat to write or study or code. it’s not a matter of money; i wouldn’t care if my place was a closet, as long as it was different. i want everything new, without the hassle of actually moving somewhere and meeting completely new people. i’d take the new people too, but i still want the current ones.
and i think i’d keep the straw sandals. after all, they are awesome.