A Hole in the Bottom of My Favorite Sock

I've been afraid to come back here lately. Every time I sit at the computer, it's easier to read what others have to say or look at pretty pictures instead of fearing keyboard diarrhea. I still fear it. I don't want to type something that will hurt someone else's feelings or get me into any kind of awkward social situation or get me fired. All of those things are in my head, unspoken sentences, inappropriate rants, complaints, gossip and the obscene tell-off (gestures included). Each is vying for its way out into the world.

But. I'm a Christian, a friend, an employee, a leader...Trying to be great at all of those when you're only human is a project. Life is a project.

This month has been one of the more difficult ones in a long time. We've had an invasion of sorts in our home and the guests have been an unpleasant distraction. You're never YOU when that happens. Eddie and I are both looking forward to when we're US again. Then I'm sure my head will be filled less with rants and more with the kinds of things that belong here.

I pulled my favorite 'about the house' socks out of the dryer tonight, just as we got home from dinner with our friends, Kristen and Seth. They're knitted and soft and fluffy and thick and they protect my feet from everything, a gift from aunt Susie. I put the left one on, and then the right and began to get into other comfortable clothes. Then I felt it. The floor. THROUGH MY SOCK. The right one. I turned my foot over and was witness to the unconscionable fact: There was a hole in the bottom of my right sock.

That one was always my favorite (the right one).

Eddie, knowing how much I love the sock says, "That's so sad." He gives me a hug.

I shall live to blog another day.


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