There is a pile of socks lying on the floor beside my bed.
They are my socks, on my side of the bed, and I have absolutely no idea how they got there.
I think I have a problem. I remember going to sleep with those socks on, because I'm an old lady who is married to a lovable miser and he keeps our thermostat hovering around minus freezing on warm days. So I always start off wearing my socks to bed, until my toes get acclimatized to the arctic tundra of my bedroom.
But for the past few days, every morning when I wake up my socks aren't on my feet anymore. And I don't remember taking them off either.
The thing is, I don't actually like sleeping with my socks on. I just like to fall asleep with them on. Which may not seem like a big distinction, but I assure you - it is. I am a woman of discriminating tastes when it comes to temperature regulation in my bed. I can be neither too hot nor too cold, or else I toss and turn and moan and groan and make Yousuf's life miserable until things are just right. Which is why I would absolutely remember the exact moment at which my feet got too hot and the socks came off.
The point is, I pay attention to things like this. What? I'm not crazy. Stop laughing.
Usually, I wait until I've reached temperature equilibrium (which involves a complicated process of snuggling, burrowing, and complaining) to reach down and snatch the socks of off my semi-defrosted feet. Then I make a very tiny, two-finger-sized hole and push my socks out from under my mountain of quilts. It's all very carefully orchestrated so as to not break the seal of warm air that I've built up around me. Quite honestly, it's a thing of beauty to behold. I've been doing it for so long that depending on the socks I wear, I can even push them off with my toes and not even have to bend down to grab them before they are released into the igloo of our bedroom.
One might say I'm a sock-tossing expert.
One might also say that I'm so good at it, that I can even do it in my sleep.
I wonder if that's it. I wonder if sock-tossing has become an autonomic reflex for me, like breathing, or drinking tea. Something I don't even have to think about. If that's the case, then it leads to some interesting questions...what else am I capable of doing in my sleep?
Go for a walk?
Make myself a snack?
Catch up on Glee?
Maybe I'm doing all those things already. I feel badly that I don't remember any of it though. I'm sure I would have enjoyed them very much.
Yousuf thinks that I am too stressed out (more on that in the days to come), and that the stress makes me stay up too late and then I come to bed and black out.
Sometimes he can be such a downer. It's stressing me out. I think I'll will myself to toss my socks at him tonight.
In any case, it's a rather problematic situation, because I also don't remember things like Nissa waking up at night, or Inara coming into our room to announce that she has to pee. Apparently I cuddled Nissa back to bed, and said, "thanks, hon" to Yousuf when he took Inara to the bathroom...but I don't remember any of it.
Just like the socks.
It bothers me - because it's not just about the socks. I wonder how much of my life I'm actually living automatically; not really thinking about as it just passes me by. That is rather troublesome. Does anybody else ever feel like this? As if you're not really engaged and just going along on auto pilot?
I think my socks are trying to tell me something, but I'm not quite sure exactly what that is just yet. I'll have to pay closer attention to the details. I like the details - I want to notice them again. But at this very moment, I've got three bajillion other things that need tending to. Just like all of you mamas that work so hard each day.
My socks feel for you.
As do I.
So for now, this shall have to remain exactly what it seems. An interesting little quirk...
...and a very big mystery.
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