Just as I'd decided that my life was a mess and that I was utterly Depressed [note the capital 'D'] and I was in need of, in no particular order, tranquillisers and alcohol I regained my joie de vivre. I'm actually a little pissed off about this. I wanted pills. I still want pills. I'm not sure I want pills for the right reasons but I want pills.
I'm still chronically exhausted though, a situation only exacerbated by the fact that my spazzie walking style as turned into spazzie-old-lady-with-arthritic-hip walking style. I am sexy, oh yes, I am. The hip, though, hurts and kills my sleep. I'd just like to mention to those who say that turning thirty isn't so bad that I am an old freakin' lady at twenty-nine. So not cool.
I finally saw a doctor about the latter and she mentioned the dread word 'orthotics'. I have had visions of myself stumping about in shoes with soles of different thicknesses, and very thick indeed, and leg braces like Forrest Gump. I know I'm over-reacting and that bones once grown will not straighten and that I won't require callipers. Still...
My mother and I have a continuing disagreement about my legs - it's one of the two unforgiven things that I will probably always hold against my parents - I think they should have been broken and remoulded when I was a child but my parents chose the she'll-grow-out-of-it-route. I've walked like a spaz for several decades and now it impacts my health [not to mention the remembered torture of all PE classes I ever attended]. I think I win.
Oh and discussion point for the ladies: women's shoes, so totally not made for walking in [except for the granny-aged lesbian librarian subclass] - thoughts?
15 comments:
HomeyPeds come in gorgeous styles and colours as well as crippled old lady styles. Take all the pills you need, I've just come to that conclusion and do it without guilt, another conclusion I've come to.
Here's irony, in the near future the only pills I'm going to need are of the super antibiotic variety. Just as I feel all peachy and keen I develop a lovely case of swollen pussy tonsil [only the one for some reason] because tonsil[justtheone]itis is such a lot of fun.
"swollen pussy tonsil"? For a minute there I thought I was going to have a read up on female anatomy...
Dirty...
Agreed. All of the most beautiful shoes I own were designed by satan and are not made for walking in, or standing in for that matter. You know my shoe saviour though? Ballet flats; all the comfort of orthotic's but none of the ugliness or sensible lesbian look of them.
I'm not sure ballet flats are up to much walking though. No support. :(
Oh to have been born a non-spaz!
This is what I've been wearing on my foots for the last three months. I guess shoon don't get much more sensible or lesbian (sensbian?). I do a forty-five minute walk to work in the morning, across the Melburnian tundra, and no ballet flat sole would last more than a month on that regime. You can wear 'em with fancy tights and skirts, if you're concerned for your femininity. And pink cardigans.
Sorry to hear about the singular tonsilitis.
Alexis, I may actually own a pair of Doc Martens that are eerily similar to the Maple3s. Much more beaten up though and from the days when work involved standing for entire shifts. Still, the soles are good and there's nothing so wrong that a good clean and polish wouldn't fix.
Did I mention that I usually dress like an aged librarian to whom clothes are merely a matter of warmth and not embarrassing other people...?
The tonsil thanks you.
Nothing wrong with dressing like an aged librarian. Some of the most fetching and winsome people I've ever met are librarians (says me over my spectacles).
Oh, that reminds me of my crusade to make Winsome a baby name once more! Eighty year old women called Winsome are just utterly adorable - even if they're evil old hags. It's just too cute!
It's the bad fabrics and styles that just kill me, Baron. Especially in the trouser area.
I've tried the over-the-spectacles look but I suspect that most people realise that I cannot actually see beyond my nose and the effect is quite ruined.
Very few trousers are made for proper bottoms. Maybe you could change your name to Winnie? Just to get the ball rolling?
From one unfortunate literary connotation to another..? Oh dear, and then there's the misfortune of my surname in proximity to (Winnie) The Pooh. Oh no, no, no!
Orthotics. Evil. Three-month-long cramp in foot.
Yeah, that's about all I have to say about that, other than if you do get them, make sure your pedorthist doesn't have ulterior motives, like trying to give your feet arches when they don't naturally have any. I'm now wearing a pair of Doc Marten shoes with my lift in the right side. They make these cool lifts these days that look like insoles with attitudes, didja know? And the best part is, they're utterly invisible.
For what it's worth, I walk like a spaz (because I am one) and I did have my legs rebuilt.
Hi!
Interrobang, you have just ruined one of my most cherished dreams! Next you'll be saying the crazy isn't entirely the fault of my dearly beloved parents.
I have wondered if the Doc Martens with special additions might be the way to go. They do make some prettyish shoes now too.
Welcome, btw.
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