heat or heels?

At 1:30am, I had two beautiful ideas I wanted to write about. But it was the middle of the night, I soothingly told my brain (as if it were a toddler), and we don’t write at 1:30am. We sleep.

At first-whistle-blow, the podcasts I was listening to while mowing mentioned a few things I wanted to explore some more. But with me so drenched in sweat that I had to lay my headphones out to dry for a couple of hours, I needed first to shower,

and dress up for my interview in the afternoon.

Then came a friend, and shoe-shopping, and lunch, until it was time for my admissions interview. Interview being an interview, I’d pulled out one of the suits I got for exec-ing, my favorite high-heeled black brogues, a black notepad folder—I looked sharp. “Mom, you’re going to scare your interviewer!” I don’t think it went that far, but as far as I was concerned it was a lovely hour of riffing and storytelling. Nothing solid enough to write down later, though…

…even if I wasn’t fretting about quickly reaching the computer shop where I got poor Edward. Poor Edward choked up during a webinar last night, threw a blue-screen fatal error, promised to reboot, and promptly said he had no hard drive. There was an ominous tch-tch/tch-tch noise to go with this statement, and giving Edward a little cooling-off time to reconsider didn’t change anything.

After I dropped Edward off, I still had to catch the post office before closing, grab some snack bars for B, select charming cards for my July, August, and September celebrants, track down California dried apricots, collect My Sweetie from work.

By the time I strolled through the grocery store that has California apricots, my feet stung in my lovely brogues. Vanity kept me from hobbling back to my car… I think.

Arriving home, my brain felt the consistency of tapioca: occasional lumps but mostly pudding. The pudding didn’t want to write anything while My Sweetie cooked dinner.

After dinner, I was on deck for an errand of mercy—B didn’t realize she was part of the lifeguard staff for an after-hours dance performance in her pool, and had brought no supper to sustain her until midnight. (Yes, “dance” and “in the pool.”) So I carefully moved back into the car with a box full of Asian noodle dish, and drove to the mirror side of town and back.

The kitchen dishes still beckon, but I finally was so annoyed at not-writing that I chose this first.

The question remains: what rendered my brain into tapioca? The cumulative heat of the day, with its intense sweaty jumpstart, or my lack of high-heel stamina, because it’s all worn off since I was exec-ing?

I need to know, because I brought these lovelies home this morning:

oxblood-colored, round-toe brogues with 3” heels

3 thoughts on “heat or heels?

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