Happy Feet

Be it sugar, chemicals, fatigue, or a combination of all three, my frame of mind has hung a little crooked this weekend. I woke up well enough this morning, but it didn’t take long for my mind to seize those 17 seconds and drive me to the brink of tears over unfounded fear and imagined obstacles. It’s nothing if not thorough in its anticipation of the worst.

Fortunately, Ter was on an even keel when I got up. We had our tea and a little discuss of plans for the day, then I had a tiny meltdown. She got me through it with sympathy and a reminder to set aside those prevalent thoughts of the car blowing up or my teeth falling out. Neither thing is likely to happen, and certainly not right at this moment, so let it go for now and stay focused on what’s real.

I love her for that. I love her for many things, actually, but her ability to steady me when I falter may be the most valuable commodity not on the market.

So, after being shored up, I chose these socks despite (or perhaps because of?) the fact that their flaming neon colours clash madly with my jeans and Def Leppard hoodie. Ter happened on me in the living room, and laughed out loud when she saw my feet on the coffee table. “I’m glad to see you wearing such cheerful socks,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied, wriggling my toes, “they make me happy.”

And so does she.