My favorite idiom in the English language is “waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
This is freaking awesome! The imagery is piercing and stupendous.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop. These words cloud my day. I live a life according to this simple creed. My life is dotted with apprehension and scattered forebodings. My life is a winding road lined with beautiful, fragrant flowers, but lurking behind each dark, blind curve, awaits the promise of ill-fated judgment. Because the other shoe is always waiting for me. What a dark promise this is that enfolds my life, what a scar on my happiness. Happiness, joy, promise, are wounds which can never heal quickly and before you know it, the other shoe drops. Thuds.
The imagery. My fate, my luck, encapsulated beneath the oppressive weight of a large, hard-soled shoe, pressing me into the ground while I squirm madly. Suddenly, I find a final glimmer of strength that allows me to escape the shoe’s hold. Freedom is mine. I run from the shoe, I run for my life. But then, the other shoe, the one that was lurking outside of my vision, comes roaring down and crashes down upon my escape and short-lived freedom. It’s awful having to endure the promise of the other shoe. The other shoe always comes for me. I know people who have never known the other shoe and I envy them. Good fortune visits them unconditionally. My good fortune is a reprehensible parent for it does not give me its love freely. Good fortune hands me a small morsel and retracts it when I reach for it. It make me work for the good fortune, and even after I’ve earned it, there is always the other shoe dangling over my head, never releasing its threat and imminent destruction.
The other shoe always destroys me. I never escape that other shoe. I hate that shoe.
I hate waiting for it, I hate the implicit understanding that it will come crashing down because that is what the shoe has always done to me, and always will. The shoe has never proven me wrong.
The shoe is poised. The shoe delivers, for me. I’ve always felt as if my life is a magnet for that other shoe.
Just once, to be proven wrong, to wait and wait and wait for it, but to be forgotten, perhaps I can finally enjoy the pleasant sunburst freely.