My socks

My first blog post and I could come up with nothing better than what was mockingly suggested to me by a friend. Nonetheless, I anxiously await the impending quiz I plan on giving them a about my foray into the blogosphere.

Funny thing about socks – they turned in to a story from the beginning for me. As you may have read in my ‘About Me’ section (no worries if you missed it, I will undoubtedly rehash everything mentioned therein in one of my posts – but shame on you for not taking enough of an interest in the person’s crap you’re reading to not even look into them! What if I wrote in there that I often enjoy injuring small animals in my spare time and I’m some kind of sick fuck who hurts rodents. And writes about his socks. Got ya thinkin’ now, eh? Good!). Just so we’re clear, though; I do not like injuring small animals. Nor large ones. Nor any animals. I’m really not at all a violent person. But I am sick (the original definition, not the vernacular defined by the Urban Dictionary as crazy, cool, or insane). I suffer from a disease called Multiple Sclerosis (MS). Far as diseases go, well, I guess the jury’s out on that one. I’m not dying (I’m told this is a good thing). I’m not in any pain. I’m actually a healthy, 26-year old male. But I can’t walk. This is pretty important to most people – I guess I miss walking. But, more than that, I miss standing to pee. If I could deal it so that I have to spend my life in a wheelchair but I could still stand to pee, shit, I’d sign whatever contract necessary to achieve that. No lies – of everything, it’s the thing I’ve lost that I miss most. If you’ve never stood to pee on a regular basis (ie: born with a severe impairment of some kind. Or being a woman.) then you’ll never understand how wonderful standing to pee really is. Reason # 6,497,864,513 why being ♂ is just so much better than being ♀. But that’s another blog post. This one is about my socks.

My diagnosis brought with it  host of issues, not the least of which was the taxing degree of difficulty I now had doing something as simple as pulling on a pair of socks. The best comparative analysis I can give for all you ‘normies’ out there is this: grab a pair of socks out of your bedroom. Go next into your kitchen and open the 3rd drawer from the counter-top. If you follow a standard kitchen layout, this drawer should contain baggies, perhaps some plastic cutlery that you may bring to work with your lunches, and a pair of oven mitts. Put on the oven mitts. Have a seat (a kitchen chair would be a good spot to do this from). Now put the socks on. While wearing the oven mitts.

While an extreme example, it nonetheless gives you a glimpse into the kind of wonderful that I deal with in a relapse.  How’d you fare? Not so hard?

Now fold the socks.

I shit you not, it was October 2009 before I was able to fold a pair of socks. Between April ’07 and then, I would match them and just fold the pair in half because I lacked the kinesthetic feedback necessary to roll one sock into the other.

Standing to pee. Folding socks? Would I learn to live without the ability to do these simple things with ease?

It’s a work in progress. Everyday’s a battle. But I’m not dying. I’m not in any pain.

I’m told that’s a good thing.

But I wish I could stand to pee and fold socks!

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4 thoughts on “My socks

  1. Stephanie says:

    You took a ridiculous suggestion and made something out of it. Lemonade my dear friend! Oh you bright and shiny person you!

  2. Rachel says:

    They say that a woman spends 5 months of her life on average doing laundry. 1 month of this time is spent separating and folding socks. By my calculations, that gives you one extra month to watch Hockey and hang out with your insanely cool sisters in your lifetime. This long lifetime, because like you said, you are not dying.xoxoxooxo

  3. Allyson says:

    The reason why you think it is better to be a boy is because you have three sisters!
    Love the blog Andrew!

    • wakingseconds says:

      I agree wholeheartedly, Ally. They were the sample subjects that allowed me to make that socio-anthropological assessment (subjective as it may be). I should amend my previous statement, however. It’s not that being ♂ is better than being ♀, it’s that we ♂s are more fortunate (societal pressures put on women alone should make most people see the validity of my argument). But I digress (and am ever-thankful that I, at least at some point, was able to stand to pee).

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