sjsprWriting

I've become quite apalled at the dirtiness of my own feet lately. I don't care, really. About dirty feet. It's just that I see my own, and suddenly, I'm assaulted with memories of the times you and I would walk around and gather gravelstones and tears under the calluses of our feet, and of mothers who care too much about the shades of unclean they are, what the others might think.  
They're always so dirty now. 

It's been like this ever since I got back, which is odd.
I'll clean and clean, rub my feet and peel them raw, but I just take two steps, my bedsheets are gray, and I am in disgust at it all.
It feels to me like home is the filthiest place to be. 

I miss outdoors, and walking worries away, leaving them in the sand and sidewalk, amongst the bird shit and all of the other crap thats there, where it belongs. I liked dirty feet when it felt like it was supposed to, meant to be dirty. Not this actual, filthy dirty that feels wrong. And I swear, I swear I don't mind it on others, or anything like that, I really don't care, really, I really, really don't
like
dirty
feet.