I'm fully aware that in a world of earthquakes, tsunamis and civil wars my problems are quite insignificant. But remember: this is the internet.
And on the internet, there's no such thing as proportion.
On message boards and comments pages throughout the world wide web (or 'WWweb'), there will be people whose hearts have been broken by a continuity error in a zombie film, whose ires have been raised by a grammatical mistake, whose life is over because someone has forgotten to correctly rotate a Facebook photo.
If I'm not part of the solution (and I'm not), I'm part of the problem. But in a world (or 'worldWW') without proportion, the problem is negligible. And all-encompassing.
So, whilst the horrible images of waves sweeping through civilisation are everywhere, fires are consuming cities, and the threat of nuclear disaster is hanging overhead like a Soviet ghost, I feel justified in telling you all:
my feet hurt
and my back hurts.
I think the two may be connected.
This past week, I began to find scraps of shoe all over the living room floor. I don't buy shoes very often (I believe it had been a few years since my last purchase), so I forget that they're not supposed to last forever. I like to ride my shoes until they drop like a shattered horse. So my current, faithful, brown walking boots have been worked to death.
But soon they will evaporate into a kind of shoe mist - and as such will not provide much comfort or traction on the long walk to work.
They've served me well. I think I might give them a full funeral. I can give a touching eulogy ("Of course, the shoes will never truly be gone, as long as we remember them and leave them decomposing in the corner of the room") Then I can play a shoe-based ballad to send them off to the next life.
So I decided to buy some new shoes.
I don't like shopping. I instantly get flustered and start making bad choices. I wish we lived in a Communist utopia, where everyone gets the same state-issued grey smock and sandals.
I searched vaguely throughout Oxford city centre for shoes. What I wanted was shoes that were almost exactly the same as the ones I used to have. Except they would be made of a solid material, rather than an ethereal suede powder.
I didn't find any of those, so had to settle on some big black boots that I thought looked cool. They are big. They are black. They make me about an inch taller - which is always good.
But sadly, they turned out to be evil.
I should have guessed, given their Darth Vaderish appearance.
On Thursday I walked to and from work. By the end of this experience, I was beginning to wish I had been born a snake, so as to have been spared the concept of foot pain.
The back of my right heel had a piece of skin the size of a fifty-pence piece hanging off it. My left heel seemed to have taken on some of the properties of the black leather.
I foolishly thought another day (with thicker socks and the odd plaster) would wear them in. This proved to be false.
I spent the day limping and shuffling around the office. It's quite embarrassing to be experiencing such discomfort because of a wardrobe choice. It's another example of me failing as a human (I can add that to my ever-growing list).
I don't think the pain was that bad, but my legs started tensing up, which made walking difficult. And whenever I concentrated on walking normally, I started making very strange leg configurations.
It's like that proverb about the bird who's asked which foot it takes off from. And because it's thinking about it, the bird can no longer fly.
I'm the bird. And I can't fly. Or walk.
I wanted to limp in a cool, war-hero way, but ended up jerking and jittering through the office like a puppet undergoing electrolysis.
And I complained to everyone, which made me feel even more of a wimp. And the complaints made me feel guilty, as there are people who have permanent disabilities that suffer more than me, but with dignity.
I made it home, but haven't put on the shoes since. I don't think I can take them back, and now I don't know what to do.
Today my back started hurting too. I think it might be related - the pain is just under my right shoulder; the right side is the same one as my skinless heel. So today I've been lying on the floor and wincing at various intervals. Once again laid low by the most minor of complaints.
I've never really had back pain before, and it makes me feel old (even though loads of people suffer from similar complaints).
I've made matters worse by complaining about my complaints. Does two lots of complaints cancel each other out? I hope so.
I feel a bit better now.
I can't imagine why anyone would find this interesting but me. But hopefully I've bought myself some leeway with a worthwhile simile here or there.
It all makes me appreciate that I'm generally in good health. I haven't been to the doctors for about five years (and don't even have one in Oxford). So I'd like to thank God and Darwin and my parents for my good health.
CLONK.
(That was the sound of me TOUCHING A LARGE PIECE OF WOOD)
Anyway, my limping made me think of this great Peter Serafinowicz sketch, which I find disproportionately amusing.
But as we've established, there's no room for proportion on the WwideW.
***
I hope Mr Serafinowicz has saved this from the title of Worst Blog Post Ever.
I'd be interested to work out who might win that title. I mean the worst post in my blog. Not in all blogs. I'm sure there are some blogs that are worse than mine. Some aren't even in English! Just imagine!
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