I hate shoes

Sometimes I get really pissed off because I have to wear shoes.  In fact, I spend a fair deal of not cold part of the year dreading when my feet will be held hostage by socks. So, really, I hate both shoes and socks.  They represent cold and they represent places that require footwear. If God meant for us to be running around with leather or cloth surrounding our feet, he wouldn't give us toes to grip things.

See, its this kind of logic that keeps me from thinking of things that I should be genuinely frightened of in my life.  Like potential drinking water contamination at home in the Catskill via natural gas fracking and not going to the dentist for 9 years.   I almost see worrying about shoes as a form of freedom that I am blessed to experience.  Along with worrying about audits, body hair and who isn't booking me. After all, I used to have my entire life run by neurologists and my neurosurgeon.  And taking pills, some times a  pile of them at once.  Things can certainly be worth worrying about more seriously.

I still hate you, shoes.  Cold weather is coming and I will stretch out my time left with flipflops for as long as my pain threshold can take it.  Or at work where they make me because fake medical examiner lab technicians would be busted by OSHA if they weren't wearing any and dead people leave gross puddles. Or possibly on stage.  On second thought, fuck it.  Why do I care if I have shoes on on stage?  The audience can handle it.