There’s this old joke that I used to make in high school; I used to tell it whenever my parents or someone introduced me.
Hi! I’m unemployed, single, and still living with my parents.
Sad thing is, that’s becoming more and more of a reality for a lot of people these days. But I choose to ignore reality and create my own. Instead let’s bask in what a “baller” I used to be (thought I was). I wrote this essay for my 11th grade AP English Language class and I’m becoming a rather lazy blogger. So I present to you my old essay now with travel pictures! Ahem, here goes:
Alarm rings – five AM. Pink Floyd softly serenades. Hand presses snooze clumsily. Head on pillow. Dog barks. Girl consents. 5:20AM.
As the day begins, normally, no inclination is given of anything out of the ordinary.
A splash of water, A dab of moisturizer. Hair, check; teeth, check – Five-thirty.
However, before me stands a colossus of doors. My closet opens and reveals its contents. My world tilts on its axis as one haunting thought reverberates – “What socks should I wear today?” Simple question. Complex answer.
As an avid collector of foot coverings and leg warmers, each sock personifies a story: the pair of striped ankle socks worn during my first track meet in which my dainty frame stood strong and determined against the daunting 800 meter race and competitors much older and wiser than me; the blue tights sported as I walked into a room of impressive and intimidating Key Clubbers during District Convention: my first week as Key Club president – frightened and pressured; black dress socks that accompany me during every violin performance – woven deep in the fibers is the music that captivates me.
“What socks should I wear today?” The thought echoes through the corridors of my mind. Ankle? Crew? Tube? Or should I forgo the sock completely and choose from my vast array of tights? As each sock argues its case, the timbre of Pink Floyd’s bass continues to fill the air. 5:40. Every choice before me and every sock on display, if chosen, will alter the course of my day.
The choice between pink tube socks and paisley ankle socks. Surely black nylons worn to school will paint me as a serious intellectual focused on my work. I will need the confidence during the presentations in Honors Sophomore English. But my plaid socks, given to me at Christmas by my family, will comfort me during the overwhelming AP Chemistry quiz in third period. Plaid? Polka-dot?
All of my socks are so dear to me, each one holds a memory, each one reminds me of a place or a person. One can never have too many socks in life. However, one cannot wear every sock at the same time. There is a time and a season for each sock. Sheer nylons are not preferable in the winter cold. Leg warmers are hazardous in the summer sweat.
Wearing someone else’s sock is a rather repugnant thought. One’s baby sister’s sock does not fit any better than one’s father’s socks. The thought of wearing the same grungy sock as one’s star quarterback brother is as appealing as licking his cleats.
Socks are not infallible. Holes, tears and runs accumulate with time, and some socks are even lost between the laundry room and the drawer.
Life is diverse and full. It is full of different people, experiences, and eccentricities. We go through a lot of pairs of socks.
In life, full of twists, turns, and shocking events, the most important choices to make involve keeping warm and protected by the socks that can shield you most – family, friends; It involves letting go of others that won’t endure: money, merit. The most defining moments are the moments when one chooses between right and wrong – remaining pure at heart and good in nature – choosing the right sock for the right time and the right place. There’s nothing like a drawer full of socks. Six O’clock.