I think the phrase is “waiting for the other shoe to drop,” right? What does that even mean – like, denotatively? Why are they carrying shoes? Why aren’t the shoes on their feet? Why don’t you just put the damn shoe down before you drop it?
Every once in awhile I look back and evaluate my life and panic: as Joe Walsh so poetically waxes in “Life’s Been Good To Me So Far,” well, yeah. What he said. There are numerous things that have/haven’t happened that ten-year-old me assumed would by now: at almost-thirty, I should be married and working on my third or fourth kid, living in a house with a bitchin’ swingset, with no fewer than fourteen dogs. Oh and also, I am a doctor, or a famous actress, or a teacher and my husband is a famous singer/doctor/lawyer/artist. Of course this is how things were supposed to turn out, yes?
But no, seriously: I’m feeling an almost-overwhelming sense of dread. I suspect that, with my absolutely lovely life right now, something horrible is about to happen. Just can’t shake it. Waiting on that shoe, as they say.
I have gracious and wonderful parents who, though they drive me crazy sometimes, are super people who continue to spoil me – even though I no longer live with them, I leave their house each time I visit armed with leftovers, or rolls of paper towels, or mixing bowls, or some other random trinkets the my mom doesn’t use and insists I need. My dad, less vocal about my “needs,” very randomly bought me a chair for my balcony the other day. A gift completely out of the blue. Granted, I think his ulterior motive was that he’d have somewhere to sit when he visits (the man is obsessed with the balcony), but still. Sweet.
I have a great job that, while not full-time employment, allows me enough hours so that I can afford said place with said balcony. My baby brudder, recently transplanted to the hyper-expensive East Coast, pays twice what I do on rent for a homestead roughly the size of my bathroom. My new home has luxuries like a dishwasher and washer/dryer – it might sound silly, but dang these things are convenient.
My friends and family are a (very, hehe) assorted mix of people and life experiences that combine to make my life all the more richer and satisfying.
I don’t want for anything, and am a little troubled by these embarrassments of riches. I veer back-and-forth between feeling frivolous (no one needs cable television or a newspaper subscription, but I have both) and eternal gratefulness (I have the means to subscribe to both these services, wow!).
I’d count my blessings, but they’re just too numerous. I know, I know, that sounds really corny but it’s true: any little woes or minor predicaments I come across are insignificant. I don’t know what’s up with my brain, but lately I feel almost undeserving. I am almost convinced that something awful is about to happen. Or I feel ashamed about how good I have it, but then I feel ashamed of feeling ashamed because shouldn’t I just be happy and grateful and just take things as they are, without marring them with ugly feelings of guilt?
Does anyone else ever feel that way? What do you do about it?
the sloppy copy 