In an otherwise relatively organised and tidy dwelling space, the sock drawer remains a place of chaos and confusion; a maelstrom of life’s flotsam and jetsam; of mis-matched socks and unworn underwear, of scarves, uncared for jewellery and foreign currency, of a passport and a scrunchy.
A place where disparate objects are thrown together carelessly, creating a new microcosm of their own.
I ask myself: How did a passport end up in a sock drawer? Or was it the socks that ended up in the passport drawer? Huh.
The sock drawer is a place of contradiction, juxtapostion and disorder.
The sock drawer is… look, I think you get the metaphor already. The sock drawer is my brain, right? My subconcious thoughts, blah, blah, blah?
If I had to spell that out for you then you might struggle with the rest of this stuff.
Yes, my brain. Full of pointless, bizarre ideas and useless, futile rants about things that piss me off. It needed a place to vent and here it is.
Why SDF? Well, years ago I was cleaning out a previous sock drawer, trying to match up socks and throw away the ones with holes etc., when I realised that it was a far bigger job than I had first imagined.
So said to myself, “this sock drawer is a fiasco.”
I liked the sound of those words and, as I often do when I hear words that sound cool together, I thought “that’d be a great name for a band.”
Well, that’s never gonna happen. So it’s a blog instead.
It’s all written by me, usually from the comfort of my bed as soon as I wake up and feel the urge to exorise the demons (socks) from my brain (drawer). Get it now?
Anyway, it’s all for me and if anybody every reads any of it… then, welcome, I guess.
And if you must know… My name is Sinead, I’m female, married, thirty-something, Australian (but currently iving in Ireland) and completely average looking.
But who cares about the details?
