This evening, I realised for the first time that I've been working too hard lately. How did this realisation occur, you ask? I tried to throw my socks away.
Seriously.
I got out of the shower. I dried myself. I put on underwear, pants, and a top. Then, for some reason known only to my subconscious, I walked into the kitchen and threw my socks in the bin.
OK I didn't exactly throw them in. By the time my hand was over the bin the awake part of my brain had managed to alert the rest that something had misfired and I was in danger of losing some hard-earned clothing. For a moment I just stood there, staring at the socks and trying to work out what I was doing wrong.
And I am genuinely relieved that I did not throw my socks away. Good socks are hard to come by. Perhaps I am alone in this problem, but my socks have a tendency to wear away at the toes and heels, leaving my tender footsies partially exposed to the biting Grahamstown cold. When I was little, my mom told me that as long as my feet were warm, the rest of me would be warm. I like to think that there is a scientific reason for it, and that she didn't just brainwash me into believing it.
Of course, not all of my socks have disappointed me (I sound like an overachieving parent...). Fluffy socks never fail me. I can wear them day in and day out, for winter after winter, and they continue to be warm, fluffy and - most importantly - whole. I have three pairs of cherished, much-loved fluffy socks, and they continue to snuggle my toes to this day. As exams loom, the wind howls and I despair over the stressful LLB life, my fluffy socks are a constant point of reference in my life.
Perhaps that's why I tried to throw my socks away tonight. My overworked and exhausted subconscious was trying to send me a message: it needs the comfort of fluffy polka-dot socks if it's going to continue to function. My psyche is desperate for the cosy delight of coddled tootsies.
Or maybe I just need more sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment