Everytime I clean up somehow, these effing shoes manage to creep back out and all over the damn place. I leave shoes at my Mom's house on purpose and she packs them up in her car and rings my bell and drops them off. My life is a mess. God forbid I try to stuff anymore under the bed. I got a beating with a shoe when I was like 7. I'll never forget that shit. My mother beat me all of like twice in my life (my Granny beat me numerous times though, lol) and that was the beating I remember the most. Maybe this problem I have with them is me taking control of that shoe that caused me pain and somehow I'm trying to turn my experiences with shoes into pleasure (pause). I hope it's not that deep. Anyone that comes to my house is always automatically appalled at the shoes all around. They're like floor accessories, tehe. And I don't keep them in boxes because I don't wear them enough to care (except my Uggs and my Converse) so they just end up all over the place. I have memories with my shoes though. Especially birthday shoes because you can only wear them once. Sigh shoes. Between my shoes and my secret weave stashes, I'm clearly not ready for a domestic situation yet, lol.

The side of my bed

The corner of my bedroom

The dining table in the living room

Behind the front door

Next to the toilet bowl


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