I love socks but they illicit angst. I just did my laundry and there is one sock without its mate, and like me, I prefer to be with my mate no matter how imperfect the fit is.
I will wonder about the missing sock till I do the next load that brings them back together. I concern myself with the separation often, visually referencing the drawer where the one sock sits..Waiting.. I understand the lacking it feels, alone in a crowd. It's almost Christmas and it's alone, in a drawer.
Fetish isn't the word for proper description of my attachment but like most Americans I use words incorrectly because I like the way they sound and because I've heard other people use them.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
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