Yesterday someone in class asked me why I bothered painting my toes. I had no good response.
I have to repaint my toes almost every night to not have some rub spots from rolling. I guess I'm still holding onto that part of me that wears cute heels with pretty painted toes peeking out. That has blisters from wearing unrealistic shoes.
Instead the reality is me that generally has one broken toe. Scars all over my feet and mostly on my toe knuckles from being drug across the mat. The eternal blood blister under my big toe. The addition this week is my "ring" toes keep bleeding where the toe nail has separated from the nail bed.
So I paint my toes to hold on to part of me and tuck my feet into a rockin pair of boots....with no heel.
I have to repaint my toes almost every night to not have some rub spots from rolling. I guess I'm still holding onto that part of me that wears cute heels with pretty painted toes peeking out. That has blisters from wearing unrealistic shoes.
Instead the reality is me that generally has one broken toe. Scars all over my feet and mostly on my toe knuckles from being drug across the mat. The eternal blood blister under my big toe. The addition this week is my "ring" toes keep bleeding where the toe nail has separated from the nail bed.
So I paint my toes to hold on to part of me and tuck my feet into a rockin pair of boots....with no heel.
I like this. I don't really have anything constructive to add. It does make me think, do we really have to justify or even understand the things we do?
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