Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “socks.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
They are a bit like Rorschach tests, these prompts of Linda’s SOC. An innocuous inkblot reveals all sorts of things that might be best kept in dresser drawers. It amazes me how many simple words she can come up with that have double meanings. I’m guessing 95% of people, especially at Christmas time, read the word socks and think of stockings or hosiery of some sort. Not me, nope, nuh-uh, I immediately thought of punching someone. Then I realized I did. Disturbed by my solitary violent streak, I tried to think of a post about the stockings-socks to divert myself from the brutal reality of punching-socking-socks.
I could write about how I hate to wear socks. I blame my time in California. When I was there socks were a rarity on anyone except the old and the hyper nerdy. My wide feet are already crammed into shoes and my feet don’t really sweat, so socks are icky. Socks actually make my feet feel claustrophobic. Seriously! Everyone looks at me funny when I say that, but it is true. You all are such judgers… I will grudgingly wear socks to work. If it is really cold I’ll wear them at home, without shoes. I have to be really miserable to wear them to bed. I may or may not wear them if snow is on the ground and I have to go outside. If I rented bowling shoes I’d wear socks.
Nope. That didn’t work. I’m still thinking about punches-socks.
I think that is because I have been thinking about the really low depression I’m in. I’ve thought I’ve been in lower-than-low depressions before but right now I’m looking up to peer into those sink holes. Sink. Sick. Sock. Punch. Depression sucks. Sucks. Socks. Punches.