Thursday, March 11, 2010

Put A Sock In It

I bought some new socks last week … nothing fancy, just a 3-pack of nondescript dress socks from the discount clothing store (I am neither well-to-do nor keenly aware of my lack of fashion sense, two aspects of my existence that complement each other remarkably well). Usually, I’ve got somewhere around 5 pair … enough to get me through a week of “work.” But as all things do, socks wear out, and there’s not a darn thing that can be done about it. I was down to about 3 wearable pairs, and it was time replenish the drawer.

Well, I got home yesterday afternoon after work, and began what has lately become something of a ritual: doffing my big-boy clothes, getting jammied up, and shuffling around the house in lonesome despair, lights dimmed, curtains drawn, beer in hand, wondering just what in the hell went so wrong that I would wind up so far down this road with nary a clue as to how I got here, nor even, at this late date, from whence I came.

Yesterday, though, as I peeled the socks from my feet (I prefer to do my shuffling bare-footed, thankyewverymuch … the transition from the warm wood of the dining room to the cool tile of the kitchen can be quite invigorating), I thought to myself “Sweet pickled Polly! This being Wednesday, I’ve exhausted my supply of new socks!” (My inner dialogue adheres, as does my writing on this blog, to the dictum stating “Never use one word when you can use one hundred.”)

I had actually gotten to the laundry room when I was struck by the realization of what I was doing. I was about to do a half-load of laundry, mid-week, just because the remaining clean, perfectly fine socks in the drawer just weren’t new enough. These were socks that had warmed my feet on cold morning rides … socks that knew I practiced scales with my little piggies during boring meetings … socks that had soaked up the blood of countless badly stubbed toes … socks that never complained when I wore one of them inside out. But they weren’t new. “My god,” I thought. “Am I really this shallow? Does my superficiality ironically run so deep that I can throw away our storied past with such disregard, simply because there's something new?”

As often happens during such moments of disheartening self-reflection, I slouched to the floor and sat for hours, unmoving (I don’t count trips to the fridge for more beer), and wondered how I could possibly go on. If I could discard something so trusted and trusting, loved and loving, throwing it away like … well, like an old sock, I guess … then what kind of person had I become?

I’m afraid to look in the mirror, for fear that I won’t recognize the monster looking back, or worse yet ... that I will.

12 comments:

Sarah said...

jesuschrist

The Dead Acorn said...

hehehe maybe I should put a

* ummm ... not really ...

footnote in there.

Domestic Oub said...

You're worse than Tiger Woods, you are.

How many other shiney new socks are going to pop out of the woodwork to humiliate those loyal old socks in your sock drawer???

The Dead Acorn said...

I think I need to start using tags, including "totally NOT a metaphor for anything, I'm just rambling on here ...

Sarah said...

Yeah. I think you should.
Wait...is that a metaphor for something? hehe

Sheri said...

That was hilarious!! What have you become?? Get a grip, Man.
PS: new socks are great!!

The Dead Acorn said...

Listen, Sheri, if that's even your real name ... I don't know who you are, but this is a serious blog where I pour out my innermost feelings in the form of thinly veiled and poorly constructed metaphors, and, as you can read in the other comments, garner emotional support from my fellow blogizens.

Maybe ... maybe ... maybe it's funny to you, but some of me are looking to the dark dusty corners of that sock drawer of life, and not liking what they're seeing. Also, there's spiders.

I'm sorry, it's getting a little dusty in here, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wallow in self pity. Plus, this beer ain't gonna drink itself.

Niamh B said...

If you liked it you shoulda put a sock on it... no wait... that doesn't sound right.

Niamh B said...

This is it:

All the single sockies, all the single sockies!!

I don't know why your blog makes me think of beyoncé songs... must be the general joie de vivre exuded from every word.

The Dead Acorn said...

"I don't know why your blog makes me think of beyoncé songs"

That's exactly the effect I've been going for! It's been a long couple of years, trying different ways of phrasing things, exploring different topics, but finally, it worked! (I was close one time, when someone commented that "[my] blog is easier to read when [she's] drunk.") That felt pretty good, but nothing like eliciting thoughts of beyoncé! Woo!

Anonymous said...

What I said, was that your blog was easier to read after I'd had two or three glasses of wine. And when you read it, if I recall correctly (and I usually do), you wept like a school girl who'd just spilled her brand new nail polish.

The Dead Acorn said...

Yes, I embellished/edited for effect a bit. I don't recall the sobbing, but that happens so often these days, I don't remember much at all.