Scoot on ~ why these shoes don’t fit anymore

So , hi.

This is a long post. Just saying.

My name is Shalom and I haven’t updated this blog in almost a month. To say I haven’t touched it would be lying, because the amount of times I’ve logged on to WordPress and typed up a draft, then realised the utter crapness of the post is crazily high. I haven’t been in Ethiopia or Lesotho or Sweden (because if I was in Sweden, believe me, YOU’D KNOW) but I have been through a lot in the past couple of months, so pardon my utter slackerage.

Good happy news though: I officially have a posting schedule! {Yay/wow/don’t care} I’ll be posting at least once every week now, and that’s not just in some vain attempt to increase traffic, because for some reason that’s been doing great all on it’s own, without me even.

On to the important stuff – well, relatively important because importance is really just relative to what’s going on in the current situation. For now, let’s all assume that we’re as dumb as I am, and place one month ago as the current current situation:

  1. I changed the theme of this here blog about 42 times.
  2. I did this to sort of match my mood but if a theme was created for every mood I had, I’m fairly certain the internet would crash.
  3. This theme makes me oddly calm so let’s go with it and avoid death of people who don’t (make me calm, that is).
  4. I do have an actual post to write, I just thought I needed to clear the air a bit.

So lately I’ve been spending a lot more time in my head, and if that adds up to insanity, I plead thoroughly guilty. And that’s okay, but not too much, because that, dear friends, results in characteristically antisocial and non-amiable behaviour which nobody ever found *too* attractive.

BUT WHO THE HELL SAID I WANTED TO BE ATTRACTIVE?

Look, nothing is wrong with being attractive, I say. I know so, so many tall, pretty, friendly, skinny blonde girls with  jealousy-creating friends and an Adonis of a boyfriend. Some of them are ridiculously happy, and that’s also totally fine. But I’ve seem to have[ (a) given myself (b) inherited, or (c) been given] these shoes that I’ve worn for so long. Have you ever had something that you’ve had for so long, that you can’t imagine not having it? That’s kind of how I feel with happiness. Not you’re-a-great-person-and-that-makes-me-happy, but rather oh-look-a-butterfly-everything-is-so-great-nothing-is-ever-the-matter-with-me-yay-love-smiles type happiness. I’m not saying that I never feel that way, but I am saying I don’t ALWAYS  feel so.

It’s like having shoes to fill. Happy shoes, if you will. These shoes that I’ve worn since eighth grade when I decided not to be bullied anymore, when I decided to be everyone’s friend. I swear, it’s not like I wasn’t friendly before, I was just not as loud and ridiculous as I tend to be sometimes. So I suppose you could say I’ve kind of grown out of those shoes. It’s quite sad. Like I said, those shoes came with friends and people who said they loved you, and really good food and a crazily brave fearlessness of sorts.

And now they’re too small.

Those people who loved you stopped, and then your friends weren’t anymore, and suddenly, you’re afraid of everything. It’s a scary thing, getting these new shoes. At least it is for me.

I’m currently at the Shoes of Life fitter. I’ve been here for months, and they still haven’t managed to find my size here. The shoemaker did say that custom orders took longer, though. How long is longer? I’m not certain in the slightest. But I do hope these new shoes come along sooner rather than later.

Though things have changed, and though I have changed, I’m not entirely different. I do still love people and things and places and life, but I do think that the years of pretending have taken their toll, so I apoplogise in advance for the melancholic zone created by such a potentially happy place.

Oh, and thank you for putting up with my metaphors.

All my love,

-Scoot xx

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