Sunday, September 20, 2009

The point of walking...

I was on my way to work last night when I saw a sight that I find amusing at the expense of someone else's pride (they just don't know it).

There was a guy, probably in his twenties, making his way down the sidewalk. His gait was horribly awkward (and not in a possibly-physically-disabled-but-not-quite-sure way), and he was wearing the ever-popular (though I can't think why) "wife beater". Yeah, I know I shouldn't use that appalling term, but I have a point. I'm calling that particular walk the "beater step". It's midway between a cool swagger and a drunken stagger.

Walking, like driving, or riding a bike, or flying, is a mode of transportation. It gets you from Point A to Point B - as simple as that. But it seems that it must be dressed up with some pseudo-dance move to somehow make this guy special, make him stand out. I'm guessing that he has to do this in place of a piece-of-junk car with flashy rims.

This isn't the first guy I've noticed doing this. Every once in a while, one will pop up. Makes me think that maybe there's some kind of conspiracy going on to confuse me in my more paranoid moments. But that's just more of my inner-crazy peeking around the corner.

Speaking of inner-crazy, I had a minor bout of insecurity at the job. Seems I don't think or move as fast as I used to. I know, I know. Get over it, Sam. You'll be a pro again soon - God-willing.

But I have to say, I feel really exposed right now because I'm just now remembering some things that got lost since leaving the store, things that I naturally did or followed the process of. It's a strange sort of vulnerability that I didn't think I'd experience by returning to the same store and the same job. When you start a new job at a place you've never work before, doing something you've never done before, you expect that. But because people know me, I keep thinking they are probably expecting all of this to just come back as if I'd never left. So, I kind of shuffle my feet and make awkward expressions, coming up with excuses that I don't really need. Everyone there is pretty patient and saying, "Don't worry. You're doing fine." Am I? Am I really?

This constant need for reassurance is annoying even to me. I can't wait until I'm back to "good" and not just "okay".

I need sleep.

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