Apparently it’s not a normal thing. At least no-one I’ve asked so far seems to get it.
I’ve been experiencing it a lot recently. I’m not sure why; could be the cold, could be my general state of circulation, could just be me being weird.
“I think I might be a bit odd,” I said at tonight’s bonfire night. We were in the middle of burning Adam’s shed. Don’t worry, he had already dismantled it; I haven’t been to Arsonists Anonymous. Well maybe that’s the problem. The bonfire spat orange sparks into the trees.
“Yep,” said somebody. I ignored that.
“What’s up, Matt?”
“Well, I keep getting this thing where it feels like my toes are the wrong way round.”
“Er... what?”
“Just like, mixed up. Toes. No-one ever get that? Oh surely... when your fourth toe feels like it’s twisted over the third one? No?”
I think it might be cramp. My brain is probably interpreting it as crossed-wires but it seems unlikely that my toes would just sort of get twiddled around like that for no reason. I mean, they’re in my socks, inside my shoes! I don’t have tiny leprechauns messing around in my trainers! I hope!
Anyway, so far no-one seems to know what in the world I’m talking about.
Adam’s old shed burned hot into the black night as the flames licked around the smoking wood. For thousands of years, perhaps millions, fire has behaved in exactly the same unpredictable, dangerous, and utterly beautiful way. We stood watching, our faces illuminated and serious, as though we were characters from an old chiaroscuro painting, suddenly fascinated by the ancientness, the freshness, and the elegance of the dance.
Darkness and light, deepest shadow and brightest flame; warm hope, and cold November air.
And me hopping about with my toes in a muddle.
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