“what a concrete mess we live in/and what an icebox heart I’ve been given”

tuesday songs: location, the freelance whales; under the gun, the killers; hey rose, girlyman; urge for going, joni mitchell; goodbye, the nields; not a lullaby, the weepies; move away, the killers; santa cruz, erin mckeown.

Crazy walk just now that began on the Upper West Side and involved 9th avenue in the low 50’s. People are moving slowly, and there are lakes everywhere, and snow piles and disgruntledness (me). I like to move at a good clip, because I’m usually listening to music that propels me accordingly, and I don’t like to be stopped or interrupted. This is the explanation for if you see me on the street and I either ignore you and/or look scary.

A few weeks ago, I had to throw out a pair of sneakers, my black Converse low tops, so well-loved in all their hipster glory. I have owned one previous pair of these shoes, which I finally had to get rid of after I climbed a mountain in Ecuador in them. A poor life choice, yes, but a romantic end. I’ve done quite a lot of avoid throwing out  particular pairs of shoes, or rather, buying new ones-duct tape, most famously. This last pair of chucks, however, wereunsalvageable. JF and I walked across the Manhattan bridge, and by the time we were back in town, my heel hurt so badly, I couldn’t put it on the ground. I had literally worn a hole in the bottom so wide and deep that it couldn’t really be considered a shoe anymore and thus was not supporting my foot. So I threw them in the trash when I got home, and now I’m wearing  a reasonably new pair of grey and mauve Sauconys, which I have luke warm feelings towards.

The walking obsession is hereditary, I think. My grandmother used to take enormous walks, which I never gave much thought to until years later, when I was living in Boston and doing the same thing. She talked about those walks constantly when she was no longer able to do them, and thinking about it now makes me realize that we both had the same hunger for perpetual mobility, although it manifested very differently.

I wonder if her wanderings resulted in the same odd combination of calmness and exhilaration as mine do, if having sore feet and numb ears and being sweaty in below freezing weather was as much a part of her daily life as it is of mine. I keep discovering more annoying things about death. Today, it’s the frustration of not being able to have answers to questions I never would have imagined wanting to ask.

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