Ok, today I'll make an effort. We sit by the pond and he tells me of his life, cup of tea in his hand. He tells me of his loves, his dreams, his job, and jokes. I think of socks and where the socks go. Where do the socks go?
I think socks are cool things. They are revolutionary beings, constantly asking themselves: How do I feel? How's my life? What do I want? Am I getting what I want? If not, why not? Then they fuck off somewhere nice, far away from our washing machines and drawers. They don't fool themselves with a sense of purpose in sacrifice, suffering and submission to our feet. They have seen it all.
In their quiet demeanor resides pure wisdom. As you walk to the washing machine carrying your dirty clothes, thinking about how you feel about your shoes, socks stare into the detergents eyes. Socks know detergents say they have compassion for your hands, but they just crack grease molecules and infect the water, just like Jesus loves you. Before Jesus was, socks are.
Socks! I scream quietly inside my mind. How can I generalize so unjustly! Some socks think for themselves, but not all. As I notice the tendency to absolutism, I mentally run away and bang my head into a huge cynicism. Ouch!
I must be crazy. Where's the middle way, please? My eyes focus outwards again and he's still sitting by my side, half way through his cup of tea, tapping his foot, talking. I hear him saying David Hasselhoff and it makes me laugh hysterically. He smiles, and says half mumbling: You know what, Debbie? It was really good to open my heart to you. ☺ It doesn’t always happen, you know. You are a good listener.
Shame on me, somewhere else all the time. I smile back, and sadness creeps in. I try thinking of socks again but now they're just a garment. My phone rings. Perfect excuse to leave. Bye! Gone. I switch off the phone and walk fast towards my house. Two girls giggle loudly in the front garden. I pass by smiling and overhear the conversation. They're talking about big brother. I want to die.
My house seems miles away. My legs feel short. My head hurts. I have nothing in common with anyone. My room walks towards me and embraces me with love. I’m safe in my loneliness.