Life is too short for boring socks.

It’s been said often, and with good reason: it really is about the little things.

I didn’t feel like writing today. I haven’t felt like doing much of anything all week. Getting out of bed this morning and yesterday was a struggle; Monday and Tuesday I was too out of it to even bother putting up the fight. I’m sick of being sick, I’m tired of being tired, and my energy reserves are running on empty. But at least I have my goddamn Tweety Bird socks on. And that matters more than you might think.

Hold on to your hats, we’re going to get all real in here for a moment.

Like a disturbingly substantial percentage of the population, I have two shadows. I have the usual one that everyone has (save for Peter Pan) that is cast whenever they step into a bright source of light, and then I have a second shadow that is invisible to most; a clingy, suffocating cloak of depression which is constantly striving to sew me up inside its darkness and bury me at sea. That fucker’s been gunning for me for over half my life now, and although by this point I’m on to most of its tricks, it still finds ways to creep up on me now and then if I’m not paying close attention. And the worst part, as many can attest, is that even when you personally know dozens of people dealing with depression, and find millions of others on the internet who are going through the same thing, depression still manages to make you feel alone.

To make things more fun, I also happen to be an unwilling member in the some 200 million strong worldwide club of People Whose Thyroids Just Don’t Want to Play Ball. I’m not sure when exactly mine decided to crap out on me, but I do know it was long before I was officially diagnosed with hypothyroidism. No thanks to a string of alternately disinterested and alarmist doctors, for years I just thought I was tired and achy and weak for no reason. That’s not the greatest norm to have in your life. Even now, with a steady treatment plan in place, my thyroid will occasionally just up and decide, “You know what? You’ve got your little pills to do my job, you don’t reeeeally need me to work today, do y- OKAY BYE!” and my symptoms will flood back in with a vengeance.


So with my mind and my body both constantly doing their best to take me down like I’m John McClane and I just threw their little brother off the thirty-second floor of Nakatomi Towers, it’s exponentially easier for smaller issues to start piling on and absorb into the larger problems, until the whole giant blob tips the scales from “This Kinda Blows” to “Fuck This Noise, I Give Up”.

That’s when it becomes absolutely imperative to start loading those little Martha Stewart “good things” onto the other side to start canceling the bad crap out.

Fortunately, not unlike Visa, they’re everywhere you want to be.

So what if it’s practically summer and I’m wearing two layers of sweaters to the office every day because my body wants to be cold all the time and I don’t want to be the bitch who makes everyone else live without air conditioning just so I can wear a cute short-sleeved shirt? This is what warm, comforting beverages were made for. With all the sweaters and tea I have in my life right now, I can almost pretend it’s winter again. I’ve always preferred winter to summer anyway.


A hot mug of tea is the real quicker picker-upper, and Stash knows it.

Down and out with the flu and it’s nowhere near flu season? Laugh through your coughing fits with the well-intentioned but somewhat ironic inspirational messages on your mentholated lozenge wrappers.


Tarzan have laryngitis. Tarzan think he maybe not call animal friends today.

Find a loophole in the no-pets clause in your lease that has left you bereft of cute, fluffy companions for far too long.


It helps to have friends in Japan who can keep you well supplied with gorgeous origami paper.

One of the best cure-alls is simply to live in Canada. Seriously. It’s mother-effing gorgeous here, and also we’re pretty hilarious an awful lot of the time.


The only thing that could make this graffiti more Canadian would be an additional note apologizing for defacing the wall.

And finally, and most importantly, never, and I mean never underestimate the power of novelty socks to improve one’s mood.


Everything that could have gone wrong today did go wrong, but hot damn, my feet are FABULOUS!

Your dogs may be barking, but at least they won’t be boring.

6 thoughts on “Life is too short for boring socks.

  1. What can I say? Your writing style is just fucking brilliant.
    Boring socks?
    Sad to admit, but I have a few pair.
    (The dog does not find them boring, however)


  2. Pingback: Observing the common idiot in its natural habitat. | Spoken Like a True Nut

  3. Pingback: Ghosts of Christmases past. | Spoken Like a True Nut

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