Thinking about my feet

They are stretched out here in front of me and my light-weight thin-soled skechers feel wee bit tight, but I don’t want to slip them off – that will doom me to be sent on an errand or something. So I am leaving my shoes on and rotating my feet around, toes pointed at some far place. Yes, this is my moment: my feet. Thinking about my feet is keeping me from thinking about this post. I’m going to think feet some more; I think that is about all my mind is up to now.

Oh, I didn’t have to come back to check the spelling of hemorrhoid . . . because I didn’t blog about the management style of Rahm Emmanuel as described by a colleague: between a hemorrhoid and a toothache. So nevermind.