October 15, 2006

The Agony and the Ecstasy

The title of this entry might suggest that this post is about Irving Stone's biography of Michelangelo (yes, I have read it), or perhaps, being cruely rejected by numerous women while under the influence of a certain recreational drug prevalent on the European club scene, but in fact, this post is likely much more relevant to your life than Michelangelo, and likely much less relevant to your life than 3,4 Methylenedioxymethylamphetamine (MDMA). So, what is it that I speak of that simultaneously induces both agony and ecstasy? That's right: washing one's socks.

Not just washing one's socks though; specifically, losing one's socks. I know what you're probably thinking right now: how could I possibly be publically agonizing over losing my socks? What kind of girly-man am I? And moreover, how the hell is the word ecstasy being used in the same sentence as socks (insofar as we are not talking about the opening scene of American Pie—and we're not)?

Well, call me what you want, but the fact of the matter is that losing a sock in the wash can be a deceptively traumatizing experience and it is one I have feared the most ever since reluctantly becoming responsible for the fate of my own clothes upon leaving the fold six years back. For years, my thinly-veiled OCD tendencies prevented me from losing even a single sock to amorphous blackhole in the dryer with a penchant for stealing errant socks. I was beyond careful, methodically ensuring each and every sock made it intact through the wash and dry cycle. Even through the dark days of 2003, I still managed to never a lose a sock.

My impeccable track record finally came to an uncelebrated end last month when I lost not one, but two separate dress socks to the wash. (Incidentally, September was a month of numerous misfortunes, making that Green Day song¹ especially relevant, but the loss of two socks in one week was by far the worst of them all.) Blame it on complacence; blame it on cockiness; blame it on whatever you want, but the point is, in the space of one week, I had lost two critical pairs of dress socks, leaving me severely short-staffed (and not just in the American Pie sense—wait, what?).

Pretty soon, the agony set in and the over-analysis I spoke off before began. What should I do? Keep the remaining socks? Throw them out? What would be the point, anyway? I was never going to get my socks back—they were gone forever! I tried to get my mind off things. I went to work out (what?); I tried reading; I even tried watching an episode of Miami Vice. Nothing seemed to be working. Every few minutes, I would see the lonely socks hanging listlessly from a cheap wire dry cleaning hanger and a new wave of sadness would fill my heart.

Time passed though, and with it, came some solace. Though hardly a day passed without me seeing those socks and wondering what may have been, work picked up and much of hurt began to dull. Then, without warning, last Sunday, my life came crashing down once again. As I was folding the latest load of laundry, I suddenly saw a familiar polka-dot dress sock I had not seen in over a month. I starred at it dumbfounded, not knowing what to think. Was this really the same sock that had disappeared from my life not long ago? Were my eyes just playing tricks on me? Was I confusing it with a recently purchased replacement (4 for $24 at Banana)? No, it was really it. It was the same sock that had disappeared! Some how, some way, it had magically appeared in my wash almost a month after first disappearing! Pulling one of those lonely socks off that cheap wire hanger and placing it with its pair gave me more pleasure than I'd really care to admit.

As is generally the case with my life though, the ecstasy of the moment was once again quickly replaced by agony, as I hurriedly folded my clothes looking for the other missing sock to no avail. Even though I had recovered one of the missing socks, the other still remained, listless and lonely, hanging silently on the cheap wire dry cleaning hanger. Today, a week later, I again went to do laundry, secretly hoping I might be pleasantly surprised to find the other missing sock. Instead, my dryer broke and now I have an entire load of soaking wet clothes on my bed. And there you have it—the agony and the ecstasy. Michelangelo ain't got shit on me.

¹ Green Day - Wake Me Up When September Ends