The Eleventh Shoe

Originally hand-begun around 4:15 this AM.

I have Googled myself relentlessly over the past month.

I don't mean that as any sort of euphemism; I strive to make my blogs & Twitter "feed" something my beloved nephews can read (as much as anything; Only 1 of the 2 is "school age"). What I mean is precisely what I (hand-)wrote: I have searched my own name (& several of my self-chosen "name de 'Net"s) on Google.com.

Do not assume from this I am self-obsessed; Questioning my parents, sibling, & best friend of over 2 decades will reveal I talk as much about "total strangers" & fictional folks as I do myself. The main reason for these attempts to "find myself" is to find years-old blogs like this one. (Should my currently-disconnected external hard drive be compatible with my next PC, "my autobio" is 5-6ths written, & I once hoped to include some of them in it.)

As I took a writing break to read that much to myself, I started tapping "Dr. Comfort" on the floor. That sentence will make more sense if-&-when you know that "my Dr. Comforts" is what I call the shoes I've now worn for 12-plus hours straight. I call them this not due to my podiatrist (Dr. Fonagy), but what they each say, both on the bottoms & the box they came in.

Earlier this week, Dr. F. said things I don't now recall verbatim about my diagnosed Diabetes potentially causing BIG problems with/for my feet. If not for that, he, you, & all the aforementioned people should know they'd be very likely later today to find me in the city I've lived & walked in for years, but in the shoes I've long referred to as "my black 'boks".

Honestly, I don't believe there is/are any special thing(s) about the black Reeboks I wore for years. I'm sure I could touch them without leaving the spot I sit in now, from where I can also see the white Reeboks I wore prior to them, which may also still fit.

In the closet with the white 'boks are a pair of "dress shoes" someone bought me semi-recently, which I wore to church services for "a stretch". In there also are a pair I call "my Marching Band-ers", which I wore in the school marching band during my Senior Year. (I graduated a dozen years ago!)

Regardless, here is the Important Thing: All the shoes I'm not wearing have remained still the entire half-hour I've been writing, & I don't believe Ohio gets many earthquakes,... So none of theses are the oft-mentioned "other shoe" I'm waiting-on "to fall".