Yes, I know, I really need to vacuum the God damned ottoman and get the cat hair off. Shut up, we’re freaking out about something entirely different in this post.

I bought those shoes yesterday, with the typical attendant anxiety bullshit that happens every single fucking time I need to buy shoes. I wanted something with some damn color; every pair of shoes I’ve bought in the last three or four years has been black and I wanted some summer-weight shoes that didn’t look like something I’d wear to work. Those caught my eye two or three times before I dared to grab a box and try them on, and then my whole entire brain went nuts because everyone was looking at me except they weren’t and no one cares and also– and this was what made me nut up and buy the damned things– I literally have an entire shirt that exact color, and I assure you that when I’m wearing that thing I’m visible from Mars.

So, yeah, you can see my feet in the dark now. The punch line to all this is it’s possible I bought them in slightly too small of a size, because the aforementioned anxiety issues kept me from giving them a full test in the store. I think they’re within the “they’ll break in fine” range, though, so we’ll cross our fingers.

There is something going on with my sense of personal style lately. I’ve been ordering rings and bracelets– bracelets, for God’s sake, although I haven’t found one that I like enough to wear regularly yet– and I’ve gone to work with three rings on more than once recently. I have a hat coming in the mail tomorrow that was shipped from Ireland and I suspect if I like it I’m going to own two or three more by the time my birthday rolls around in July.

If I end up spending a few thousand bucks on an arm sleeve this summer, will somebody do me a favor and stage an intervention?