I’m not crazy.

Posted: January 11, 2011 in proselytizaytion
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Last night, or maybe it was early this morning, I started carving into the bottom of my right foot with a small dirty blade I picked up off the floor. An old note on the same floor distracted me momentarily: Call Bill after 5pm, followed by an address. Call WF. WF? Why would I call…oh.

Wells Fargo.

Speaking of which, I need to pay that bank again today. Wells Fargo. Here; Wacovia. I bitterly helped pay for that merge.

I brushed the note aside not knowing how old it was, who Bill is, or what sits at the address scrawled between unimportant and shitty. Then I cut deep. Too deep. Through the thick skin of bare feet. Why was I taking the blade to my foot at all?

Too late.

Beyond early childhood, people pestered me about walking around barefoot. It was a matter of public health, a matter of personal safety, a matter of inappropriate attire and unrefined behavior.
You’ll step on something.
Have you had a tetanus shot lately?
You’re filthy. The ground is filthy.
(I was also told repeatedly not to sit on, lie on, touch or even look at the ground.)
You’ll catch walking pneumonia and die.
One bus driver looked at me like I was crazy just for stepping onto his bus one winter night without shoes. I spent the ride wondering.

My foot started to bleed while I thought about these things.

Surely a seasoned bus driver would know; had been exposed to crazy before.
As a matter of fact, I’ve had several harsh judgments passed down to me by bus drivers.

I’ve been left to walk around on those assessments with sore feet.


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