Why I must wear some ugly ass shoes

Once again, I'm going to have to blaze through writing this post because I'm sneaking it in at work and I have to leave early today because if I don't I will have overtime.  Overtime is not looked upon very fondly around these parts. 

Before I start though, do y'all ever go back and re-read the comments here?  Because sometimes (not all of the time) I reply to y'all but then I started thinking y'all may not ever see when I reply to your questions.

So in case you don't go back to the comments, here are some answers to your questions from my post a couple of days ago (or you can go read the comments and read here but it will sound repetitive because I'm, you know, repeating what I already said in the comments):

No, I have no idea how long the fake children will be staying with me.  The girl fake child is working but bless her heart (yes, I mean that in the southern way which isn't necessarily a good thing), she had done no research as to how much it would cost to rent an apartment, buy furniture to furnish the apartment, buy sheets, towels, bed linens, dishes, pots/pans, etc. to live every day, pay deposits on an apartment, pay deposits on utilities, pay for utilities each month, put gas in her car, insure her car, feed themselves, etc. and so when the lady she's working for asked her how much she wanted to make she threw a number out there and that's what she's getting paid.  And it might pay for a really cheap apartment rent and food and that's pretty much it.  She was so excited because it sounded like a whole lot of money to them and I hated to burst her bubble, but I had to.  I had tried to tell them how much stuff here would cost but I don't think she had really added it all up and didn't have a grand total in her mind.  So I've told them they can stay with me until they can afford all of that stuff by getting a higher paying job but they have to pay for all of the groceries and help me clean the house while they are with me.  They are actually super motivated to get a lot of stuff done, but America is way different than what they're used to so it's just taking a while to get on their feet.  And the three of us have had a few tense moments, but we're working it all out and things are okay.  It's just exhausting having people in your house for an extended period of time.

As far as the party, do y'all know that people who have two kids actually throw parties sometimes??  I am fine throwing a party with the kids still there.  I just didn't want to do it the same weekend I had 4 family members also staying at my house because here's the deal with these particular family members:  I love them all dearly, but they don't stick to a schedule.  At all.  The last time they came they told me they'd be at my house by 5 and I almost took part of the day off work so I could be home when they got there.  But then I remembered they would NEVER be there by 5.  They got to my house at 1:00 a.m.  Yes, EIGHT HOURS LATE.  They only live a 6 hour drive from me.  And if they tell me they need to be on the road by 9 a.m., I know they'll leave my house by 2 p.m. or 3 p.m.  They are always many hours behind.  And if I had a party scheduled when they were staying with me I can promise you y'all would show up at my house and I'd still be in my pajamas with my hair up in a scrunchy bun on top of my head wearing my fuzzy bedroom shoes and cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast and I would have no party stuff ready even if the party started at 3.  Another time they were here we had plans to go somewhere around 10:00 a.m. and we finally left for the activity at 4:00 p.m. and then we were late getting to a dinner that night.  I wish I was exaggerating this even a little bit but I am not.  Again, I love them to pieces but sticking to a schedule is not on their list of strong points.

So if y'all do want to have a birthday party, I'm all for it even with fake kids.  But it would need to be on July 20th and not the 13th.  But if y'all don't want to party like it's 1999, just let me know.  Maybe we could convince June to come though......

Okay.  So about my feet.  What?  Fake kids, party talk and feet all in one post?  Why yes.

I just had to stop talking to y'all to work on a document for my boss so that just cut into my blogging time and I might STILL not finish this post before I have to leave work.

Like our favorite blogger, June, I have the feet problem.  The plantar fascias or however the heck you spell it.  I got it from teaching at the paint studio where I stood and walked on concrete floors and a plywood stage for hours and hours several nights a week for 5 years.  When I broke my humerus last year, I had to stop working there.  I also wore some super unattractive shoes because I was trying to wear rubber soled shoes so I wouldn't fall and break something else and to try and help my feet which were always in excruciating pain.  And one night I was putting on these ugly ass shoes and I flipped one of them over on its side and fell anyway.  My bed was right there so I flung out my good arm to catch myself.  But I forgot my bed frame was on wheels and I had hardwood floors so my bed started quickly flying across the floor as I screamed and then flopped myself down on my face on the bed and right on my horribly broken arm because that seemed like a better option than falling on my face all the way down on the floor.  And when I went to the doctor that week (I had to go every single week for about 2 months - SUCKED) and they x-rayed my arm, the doc said, "it looks like your bone pieces moved a little this week."  And I replied, "could that possibly be from when I fell on my face a few days ago?  Again."  And he said it would be best if I could stay on my feet and stop falling on my face.  Which, how did he get so smart?  They must have taught him that in fancy medical school.  Anyway, this was supposed to be about my feet and not about me trying to break my face.

So I wore those ugly ass shoes for almost 9 months straight while I recovered and I stopped walking and standing on concrete and plywood for 20+ hours per week and lo and behold my feet didn't hurt every single day.  Only sometimes.  And then my dad died and my brother and I had to clean out his house and then I broke my wrist and got whiplash so I was still not working at the studio because I was dealing with other crap.  And suddenly I realized my feet hardly ever hurt anymore.  And angels sang.  Because y'all the pain from this foot stuff is unbelievable.

But then my fake kids came and I've been trying to show them around Atlanta and some of the cool stuff we have here.  Two or three weeks ago I took them to Stone Mountain Park to the laser show.  And even though we got there 3 hours before it started, the parking lots were full and we had to walk approximately 94753945794 miles.  And I stupidly wore flip flops and I have been in tears for the past several weeks trying to walk.  It's actually been the worst it's ever been.  I've had to hold onto the walls in my house because I've felt like I was going to fall my feet hurt so much.

So now I'm back in my ugly ass shoes trying to fix my feet again.  So if we have a party I will try to wear cute shoes that day but I might be in my ugly ass shoes.

Then my neck started hurting really bad again.  I had a massage at the chiropractor and it feels even worse from that.  Then I slammed my good arm into a door knob two days ago and it's bruised so bad I could cry every single time I touch it.   And my shoulder that was hurt last year when I broke my arm is hurting again from some of the physical therapy I'm doing for my wrist.  And my entire left calf hurts from walking weird because my feet are so hurt-y.

And I hate everything.

And I have to leave work right now so I have to end this post.  I will try to sneak in some more blogging this weekend if my fake kids are doing something else.  I have plans Sunday morning to meet some friends for brunch, but that's all I have planned.  And the angels sang because I might get to sit on my ass and rest for a minute.