That lost shoe (that I did find in the end) from the coyote scare the other night is still rolling around in my mind.
I’ve lost a lot of shoes in my day. It happens when one has a propensity for getting annihilated drunk or completely smashed on whatever substance comes through on any given day. I’ve lost whole pairs of shoes more times than I care to think about.
The shoe loss that bothers me the most is the one lost shoe that never turned up.
I was wasted (as usual), riding around in a friend’s car, in the back seat. I never got out of the car. Somehow, I managed to lose ONE shoe. Just one. We searched the car thoroughly, more than once. That one missing shoe never turned up. That one lost shoe has haunted me since then.
Finding the shoe I lost while trying to save my baby Mollie from the coyotes feels really good. It almost feels as good as keeping my head straight enough to save the little baby doggie. Really, the two aren’t even close, and yet–there it is.
Maybe it’s just gratitude for my recovery. Maybe I’m just grateful that, today, I’m not the kind of person who loses one fucking shoe in the back seat of a car.
Whatever it is, I’ll take it.