Excerpt from the Journal

Every so often, one begins to feel as though one is living a role; and the incidents which occur seem to be happening to at a distance, in spite of direct involvement. You begin to realise the reason behind the aforementioned distance: Of course it'll seem like someone else's life - that's precisely what it is, isn't it? It is the life of the character whose shoes you decided to step into, not yours.

Depressing as this role-assuming sounds, occassionally, you discover that the recent role you have acquired sits with you much more easily than the last, than any you have ever adopted, for that matter. The sensation is unpleasantly comfortable. Comfortable? Certainly, but unpleasantly so. Because you are so highly unaccustomed to being at ease with and enjoying essaying your role, that this newfound comfort fills you with a wariness which you cannot escape. In fact, you may even cherish your wariness and reluctance to settle into these shoes which fit you like a second layer of skin, and leave you feeling as though you are barefoot. The fact that you don't immediately accept them means that you're less susceptible to the disappointment they'll induce when the fall apart at the seams on their first encounter with rough weather.

Meanwhile, you can't help but appreciate how this character's shoes are almost frighteningly suitable for every occassion. You enjoy wearing them, savour the ease with which they envelope your feet. Gradually, and without you noticing, your suspicipicions about the shoes fall away, and you begin trusting them - the notion which had terrified you so very much initially. However, unlike your attitude towards the shoes of other characters you've played, you don't depend on this pair, even though you have immense faith in them. You realise that you've finally learnt, "matured" if you please, or, plain and simple, GROWN UP. It doesn't surprise you, therefore, when they rip at the heel due to constant use; and you, devoid of any malice or bitterness, put them away in your closet. Why taint their memory by permitting regret to seep in? They served you exceedingly well, after all. The worn and battered shoes sitting upon your shelf taught you to go barefoot, in the skin, and crutches be damned.