Saturday, May 10, 2014

Caring for my dogs

I went shoe shopping today. Not that kind of shopping -- for heels, cutesy flats with glitter and such. Got myself some new running kicks. And donated a chunk of my bank account to Fleet Feet in the process.
Plantar fasciitis, go away, NEVER COME BACK AGAIN ANY OTHER DAY. 

Wells Fargo was so alarmed by all the day's purchases

(Burger King x1 and Starbucks x2, then Fleet Feet x attempted 2)

that they put a hold on my card. 

When rejected at the F.Feet register, I stepped aside to call up the bank and see what was up. The guy who helped me over the phone, after ticking off my recent purchases for verification that I had approved of them, said, "So you're a fan of Starbucks."

"Guilty," my response [caramel macchiato in hand]. 

Once I told Mr. Bank Helper Man that yes, I do indeed have a coffee issue in my life, he told me that in about 90 seconds I could purchase my shoes, and that I did. 

Rewind a little bit: 

When I walked into the store, all of the shoe-fitter helper people appeared to be busy, so I appeared to be interested in a sports bra (read: interested in discovering how freakishly expensive it was).

In my brief glance to the shoe-fitter helper section, I made a very quick and unexplainable choice that I wanted the guy on the end of the row of fitting benches to be my helper. I don't know completely why, I just felt that I wanted him to help me find shoes. 

And seconds later, he had come to my area and greeted me. 

He was a sweet, cute, sweetie pie cutie pie. It was a double whammy. And best of all, I could look him in the eye and talk to him about my foot woes and needs, foot hopes and dreams.

(Usually when in the presence of a cute and/or kind male I have trouble looking him in the eye. For all my years in a brother-dominated household, for all my legitimate abilities to talk football and play football and not flinch in the face of burping and wrestling and whatever else boys do, and for all my male friends whom I hold near and dear, truth be told I do get very nervous in the face of attractive, kind men who I have crushes on. So when I can be calm with someone who is kind and/or attractive, it is a wonderful and beautiful thing that I don't take lightly and I breathe a nice sigh of "This is nice" when it happens.)

My shoe helper man has plantar fasciitis too. We talked about it. It was kind of like foot injury [couples] therapy. 

We talked about races we've done. We talked about ones we want to do. 

He showed me how to use one of those roller things to massage out my stiff calves. 

We planned our wedding.

All this and I don't even know his name. 

If he reads this, this is going to be pretty uncomfortable. Or the best ice breaker ever. 

I didn't even really have that big of a crush on him, like this post is making it sound that I did. I just so enjoyed his company, the ease of talking to him, our common injury, the renewed hope of walking away with shoes that were chosen for me by someone who knows shoes and knows my injury, shoes with special inserts that might help to once and for all kick this damn pain in my foot. 

Rewind again:

Shortly before I arrived at the shoe store, I realized I had done some work in that neighborhood last summer, via a temporary agency. I was so broke when I did that job, and was so grateful for just two or three days out of the house to make $11 an hour to help an office catch up on their filing. But I was so stressed out, mind always churning as a result of unemployment. It was at that time that I decided I needed sanctuary, just needed to go home and let people who love me feed me for some weeks. To be near family and old friends and cats. 

About a month later I did go home and within a week of coming back that same temporary agency found me a job which turned into my now full-time job. 

Being able to walk out of the store today with $200 of merchandise aimed at bettering my health, in an area of town that carries memories of such an opposite state of income and uncertainty in my life, put an extra bounce in my step and my spirit. 

I woke up this morning well rested -- 10 hours of hard sleep, with only one pee break that I can recall -- but shortly after I exited unconsciousness I realized my head was spinning. 

Thoughts of boys, thoughts of purpose, vain thoughts (wondering which pictures of myself could be potential #tbt items for Facebook; that's embarrassing to admit, but hey I was thinking about it), wondering why I've been feeling depressed lately, wondering what to do with myself today. 

Lately I've started sitting still, sitting quietly, when the familiar thought of "What can I do with myself right now to pend off anxiety and/or depression?" appears for the millionth time of my twenties.

This has been a revolutionary change for me, and I've been shocked and so pleased with how much being still creates stillness in me. For years, when panicked or on the verge of panic, I have done more, not less, in an effort to make myself feel better. Exercise, cross stitch, call a friend, watch a movie. Anything but sit still and just be with my thoughts. 

Sometimes all this motion has helped, but since I've started sitting still I've realized that if one wants to be still she better take Step One and get still. 

So lately, instead of doing lots of cleaning and errand running on the weekends, I've been heading to the beach. It's been great and really, truly life-changing.

A beach day was on the table of possibilities this morning, but I wasn't even sure about that, because I have so many things that need to get done, several of which will be good for me, like getting new shoes so I can stop re-injuring my foot. Yet in recent weekends I have ditched any to-do list for quiet time in the sand, so I wondered this morning which path to take. And by "wondered" I mean agonized.

I wondered if I should sit still, read the Bible, pray, call a friend, run errands, write, go to the beach. Cook at home, then get coffee, or go get coffee, then come back home and cook? I couldn't make a decision, so I prayed about being able to make one. I read the Bible passage we're supposed to discuss at this week's community group get together. 

Eventually I got out of bed, feeling funny, depression sticking itself to my backside, like Peter Pan's sewn-on shadow. 

I sunscreened myself, spent way too much time on Facebook, sent some emails, looked up directions to a Walmart with an automotive department (one of my very overdue errands is to give my car some love), to a Starbucks, and to Fleet Feet. 

I finally got in the car to go get food and coffee and to see where the car took me. 

Fleet Feet is where I landed. I felt better by the time I walked in -- food, java, sunshine, and some prayer helped with this, is my guess -- and felt good when I left. The retail therapy helped, but so did God's good grace that removed my icky gloomy feelings and that put human connection and some podiatric hope into my day and life. 

Yesterday I called my insurance company for a podiatry referral. Here's hoping for healthy feet, running days, and more direction-filled, less depression-filled days ahead. 


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