sweater gazing

i’ve begun to notice that most of my sweaters are old and threadbare and have littles holes here and there. i am comfortable in them, but when i imagine how they might look to somebody who is not me, it becomes a concern.

so today was sweater shopping day. my goal: to find and buy one sweater. i thought this might be a quick, easy task since i was visiting my mother who lives in the suburbs near the malls, with all of the big department stores where everything is on sale. i was not even sure what i was looking for. i knew i could not handle logos or brand names (Tommy Bahama?), or very many colors except for gray or black or olive green. i could not handle stripes or argyle patterns or vast baroque collars. there was a lot i could not handle. when i found the perfect one that was both olive green and black, with sort of a subtle texture, it turned out to be a hoodie. and i fear my hoodie days (if they ever existed) are now behind me.

i tried on a lot of repellent sweaters because the price tags showed they were 50% off, and then marked down another 50%.   but that was not good enough me. i was hoping if i waited around long enough, they would be paying me to take home the sweaters. that i could eventually turn a profit. but i don’t know if wearing purple or light brown would really be worth it, in the long run. that would mean, selling out.

several fruitless hours and 6 stores later, it occurred to me that the problem might not be the stores or their bland inventory, but perhaps the real problem was my body, which is either too vast or too molecular for most clothing. it reminded me of a conversation i had with my friend D a couple of weeks ago. when she asked me about my job and i was explaining that it was not a good fit for me. and then she asked, “well, what do you fit into?” which really bothered me. i really felt slighted.  but i could not really say anything because D has been going through some serious health issues of late. and when i think about D, thoughts of sweaters don’t even enter my mind. maybe that is what love is all about.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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