Odd sized shoes

My shoes are different sizes. I came to this realisation in a curious way. When I took my beloved RM Williams boots in for repair I noticed that the left was bigger than the right. "These can't be mine." I pronounced with absolute certainty. The welt of one seemed to protrude further out the other. I was more stressed than I should have been and insisted that the matching boot be found. It couldn't. As things transpired I was given a new pair of boots. But even then I was unhappy and gave them away. I've learned to live with my odd boots. Noone else has noticed. Perhaps I'm just picky. Or obsessive compulsive. Or both. Anything is possible. If truth be told, I have become rather fond of my idiosyncratic footwear. I like that they are unlike and take great pleasure in massaging leather cream into the cracks. I make no distinction between left and right. I don't even know which is the original and which is the adopted sole.

I'm learning to let things slide. I never know what will happen next when I allow a little randomness into the frame. After all do I want a realisitic picture at the end of my life, or an expressionst one?

The latter I think.

This morning I was on Breakfast TV. Thought, perhaps, that noone would have seen me - with the exception of desperate housewives (the segment aired at 8.45, when all diligient workaholics were stuck in traffic).

But the phone has been ringing all day with compliments from friends and colleagues. It's gratifying to receive positive feedback. Likewise with the magazine. People seem to like it.

I like that.