It’s a Mess.
My Sock Drawer and my Heart
Hurrying to race out the door to work, I rummaged in my sock drawer for a matching pair of black socks. Glancing at the clock, I promised myself—again—that I would dump the drawer, sort through it, toss away the widows and straighten up the surviving pairs.
Straightening the sock drawer is a promise I make to myself once or twice a month. And somehow, fifteen minutes for my socks never seem to materialize. Saturday rolls around, and I’d rather bake blueberry muffins. Or rub the dogs’ bellies, delighting in their contented sighs. Or talk to my sister on the phone.