Shoo in, shoe out

I have a reason to worry today, something that has my father and my close friends in a bit of a dither. For the past week or so, every time I think about what was once and for many years my favourite activity, I have felt seriously bilious, vaguely angry and extremely fed up. That in itself is worrying enough, but to add the gravity of the situation, even if there has been provocation of the most delightful kind, I have been unresponsive and even repelled.

I speak of what has always been something that cheered me up through my darkest, direst moods, something that always made my eyes light up and my ears wiggle in delight. Shoes. Footwear. Sandals. Chappals. You know - that species of object that fits neatly on the feet. The pleasure these accessories gave me has waned, faded, passed into oblivion, gone. But for ever more? I am not sure. I have no clue. I do not know. Maybe I never will.

I suspected that this was happening when my friend who makes shoes for me called a couple of weeks ago. Your sandals are ready, he announced with a certain pride of creative ownership. Come and get them from the shop. These are a delightful pair of red and black heels that I have had duplicated from a favourite pair I once bought in Delhi, and I would use every opportunity I could to slip into them and swan around. But I still have not collected the new pair. I don’t, frankly, feel like.

Today I went with a friend to the mall. She hopped in and out of three shoe stores. I followed dutifully behind, found her a gorgeous pair that she fell in love with, tried and bought, while I stood by, bored and wanting nothing more than to go home. I had none of my usual covetousness as I watched her acquire the open toed, kitten heeled black and grey pair. She pointed out an interesting set of heels in brilliant fire-engine red, with the sharply perilous height I so like, and I shrugged and refused to even try them on. You are seriously not well, she said, a glint of worry in her nicely lined eyes. We left the store, taking the pair she had bought but none for me.

I am still trying to figure out why this is happening to me. Could it be because I am tired? Could it be because I have another interest for now – lingerie, clothes, jewellery, food, even mugs? Or could it just be a bad case of ennui, of seeing to much and having too much for anything to spark that gleam in my eyes that say loud and clear that I WANT! And I WILL GET!?

What is wrong with me? I am seriously worried. Any clues, anyone?