I’m having a bit of a moment here. I need to remove my nail polish, but I’m finding it tough. If I shed these four (yes FOUR) layers of scuffed neon pink nail polish from my toes, I will also be removing the final piece of Bali handiwork from my person, and consequently separating myself completely from Indonesia. AND I’M NOT READY TO LET GO.
On the other hand, I also think it’s high time I spent some time in a world where everything isn’t easy; a world where I have to do things for myself. Other people have been doing stuff for me for so long… cooking, cleaning, painting my nails, filling up my bike… that I’m literally a liability.
I can’t even wear shoes that aren’t flip flops. Check out that blister on my yucky foot. I got that in Portland from walking in heels for the first time in a year. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but like a lot of things that seem like a good idea at the time and then turn out to be a fucking terrible idea, it wasn’t. My high-heeled outing ended in agony. Although… I did get to spank a statue with a broom whilst wearing my heels so I suppose I’ll always have that.
Just now in the kitchen, I managed to slice my finger on a kitchen knife while washing it. And before that I attempted to peel a carrot the wrong way, making Beth cry out loud that I was about to slit my wrist and then ordering me to go and sit down. I’m not very good in kitchens anymore. Or at wearing shoes.
Yes. Maybe it’s time to shed the last of Bali from my person and take another blistered step towards something else. Pass me the nail polish remover. I’m about to let go.