I said I would be honest.
Back to the Hunter's boots...
am I seriously planning to do that much puddle jumping? Why this sudden need to taste the rainbow and procure every single color offered here and in the U.K.? What is up with that?
Dr. Z said it is a stress response. If there is a major storm on the way, people pick the shelves clean- stocking up on water, bread, milk, batteries, etc. Apparently, what I need to survive is designer footwear. Who needs food when you can accessorize?
It is financially irresponsible; it is self-indulgent; it is a temporary fix.
Yep, yep, yep.
So, do you think they have the shearling lined brown ones in my size?
In my own experience, when someone's brain isn't working right, they sometimes take comfort in order. They depend on predictability. Decisions create anxiety. So here I am, not choosing, saying let's just get it over with and get the whole kit and caboodle. Here I am, stacking boxes, and planning color coded pictures for easy access. Here I am, planning my outfit around tomorrow's color of boots.
I should be ashamed. But I am not. If it takes a pair of boots to get me out of bed, then so be it.
I know that it is a distraction- this hunt and gather instinct. I know that searching for the elusive color, or deciding how to style them blocks off time I would spend thinking much darker thoughts. I know that checking off the different shades gives me a sense of control, although my bank account may argue that idea. :)
Maybe it is my brain. Maybe I've just gone -in the words of my dear old friend, Beverly,-crackerdogs.
Either way, I am keeping busy. I am not hurting anyone.
This morning, when I woke up, but was still laying in bed, I revisited Cory at the funeral home, in my mind. I knew she would be cold, but I was not prepared for her to feel hard. As I lay here under the afghan with her picture on it, I could feel the chill of her skin when I touched it. I bent over time and time again to kiss that little scrape on her hand. If I could just let her know how sorry I am that I let her get hurt. Before long, it was time to say good-bye. I could feel her lips under mine for that last kiss. I kissed the picture of her that I held all through her service, transferring some of her Totally Toffee lipstick onto it. I keep it in my jewelry chest. I can still feel her lips. I can almost taste her lipstick. I was so in love with her. In bed, still dark outside, my head moved back and forth, trying to negate the reality that she is truly gone. My hands found my laptop not a moment to soon. Let's think about something else.
So if you see me about town in colored rainboots on a sunny day, and think geez, what is wrong with that girl? Is that all she ever wears? Just know that in my mind, I am in a corner, stacking up my Hunter bootboxes, sneaking a little smile and a tad bit of joy at the pretty candy colors. I am fantasizing that Cory has all her favorite colors and I have all mine. We share them out, doubling each of our boot wardrobes, just like the old days. We plan our outings around our boot outfits...these look like movie boots, these look like Barnes and Noble boots, these would be perfect for our booty-go-rounds...
We slide them on, and twirl for each other. We giggle and laugh about how naughty we've been. Then we climb into the car, twinkies again after all these months, and turn on some music for the car ride. We are going for coffee and window shopping...
It's a Mommy-Cory day.
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