on the topic of shoes indefinitely: I

A quick post of an assignment from today with an added graph:

I have always had a very practical and utilitarian relationship with my shoes. If you had recorded the years of my life in a table and then recorded the number of shoes I've had in my life in that same table and used both columns to chart a scatter plot, the result would be uninteresting at best -- a straight line which crosses Y at 1 pair. I use them until my toes pop out of the holes in the front, and then I throw them away and lather, rinse, repeat.

with a polynomial trendline

This can likely be attributed to my lack of appreciation of the glamor of shoes, which I have, until recently, forfeited to the women of the world. Let it be their concern, I would say -- my life has enough stress already to worry about, of all things, current foot fashion. Just as the icebergs, though, my attachment to shoes began to thaw and release itself under the heat from the sun of life. First, I found sandals, and this marked a distinctly new point in my life. In the same way that I imagine once oppressed peoples first gets the ability to vote in free elections, my feet were liberated. Of course, with liberation came more sandals.

As winter months approached, however, my feet began to feel the true responsibilities of this freedom, or rather, my own interpretation of it. I had selfishly justified that sandals were not actually shoes, and so, I was not compromising the greater principles of my life by sometimes delving into that perverse fantasy world. This mode of thought could no longer survive, though, and as November drew nearer, it was time for a new worldview.