Cornucopia of the Loom

I lose socks. It's what I do. There are two of them to a pair, and the second always ends up on holiday. My pet peeve, however, used to be when my mom would roll up two different socks, even if they looked the same, in a ball adn try to pass them off as a pair. Drove me absolutely nuts. So she started just stacking them up on my dresser for me to pair up myself, where they have been to this day. Little did I know that the sock drawer was still filled with socks. Socks that I used to wear in elementary school, big thick long off-white almost grey with wear socks of two hundred fifty percent cotton. As I'm trying to clean out these drawers now, what the hell am I going to do with all of these socks.

The room (note, no longer mine) is getting torn apart, but at least I have a say in which things get canned. Counting my blessings, see. What I really need is a good stiff drink and a good long walk. And a good hug. Isn't it funny how sometimes you just need something, some kind of contact like that? Stuffed animals rarely hug back.

There's a newspaper in Santa Fe that needs a new Que Pasa ("What's Up") editor.

Puedo hacerlo, Santa Fe. Espérame.