I bought insoles I have to bake. But I read the instructions and I have to bake them for ONE pair of shoes. My work shoes are ripped. I have to buy new shoes to bake my insoles for.
I used to think I had cute feet. My feet are like no other feet I've seen. My feet are Barbie feet. My arches shock my doctors. They tell me I will have hammer-feet if I don't start yoga. I haven't looked up hammer-feet on the internet, yet, because it scares me. I haven't started yoga either. The insoles I will bake cost $45.00.
I will not finish my big paintings because I have no place to put them when they are done and that thought causes me anxiety and sadness.
I sold 4 paintings at the Sycamore.
They were very small paintings. But still, I'm happy for it.
If I put up the shelves, I can put the books away. Then we will have a floor again, and we can buy a piano.
If we buy a piano, we will be staying here. I like it here most of the time.
If the floor is clear of books, I can put the household organizer on the wall and work at my desk again. It will make me feel free and relaxed, I believe.
There are rods of dead skin going into my feet because of displaced pressure (or misplaced pressure). When the doctor digs them out, they remind me of when I drop colored pencils and the lead breaks all the way up into tiny pieces. Then, when you sharpen them (the pencils), the pieces of lead come out in frustrating succession.
I am frustrated because I lack the energy to become free and relaxed.
There are no broken bones in my feet.
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