Just B*tchin' Just Kiddin'

At this current moment, I do not own a pair of heels. 

...
-GASP-....
Oh Emm Gee?!---
...waiting for more exasperated expressions...

And now my explanation.

I realize every girl needs a pair of heels to feel confident, not like a midget, and like a classy stripper. I did once. Only the thing is when I left the country, my dear mother threw all of them out. 

This action, I've been told, was done out of the goodness of her heart and devout love. (I broke my ankle a couple of times.) Of course, in finding this out, I was furious. More than furious. 

But what could I do? I'm broke and shoe-less. I can't possibly depend on Prince Charming getting back to me with a slipper since I no longer have the other half. Plus, in this recession, he's probably bankrupt, so a journey to get to me is only a fairy tale.

On a lighter note, I'm an artist. Hence, I'm already creative. I will make my own shoes... Probably not. However, I can be creative enough to find awesome shoes for a good deal. 

An epic heel search journey awaits. 

And will be documented!

Patience is a virtue.

Or so they say. But really, what is so virtuous about waiting? Is it because by not waiting, I would miss out on the small things? Do the small things really matter if they're so minuscule in the first place? 

With philosophy aside, bottom line is that I don't like waiting. That doesn't mean I'm not good at it. I probably rank prime candidate as best patience portrayer. 

Whenever I have to wait, I fill that void to get my mind off of the very thing I'm waiting for. It's supposed to be temporary. I repeat: "supposed to be". But sometimes, those very meaningless things take up so much space, time, and energy, that the end goal I was waiting for in the first place, disappears. 

Does that mean the very goal set up originally wasn't worth waiting for, but something needed to be forgotten? Or has my tangent consumed me to forget the very path I'm supposed to be on and I'm in need of a working GPS to get me back on track?

While waiting, I become more indecisive, and I really don't know.

Without answers, I'm only left with the resounding echos of a clock ticking, reminding me of each second just passing. Only passing.

This year October has five Mondays, five Saturdays, and five Sundays. This Happens once every 823 years. I found this out through a tweet. Funny thing.

So my plans for the month with the most Mondays? Survive it. 

And shop for Halloween candy.