I finally found the place where all of our missing single socks go after we lose them in the washing machine, and it’s a magical, wondrous place. Try and keep up, because you’re not going to believe this.

I fell directly into my empty washing machine during an electrical storm last night, knocked myself out, and lost consciousness for several hours. When I came to, I was in the magical realm of King Missingsock and his humble and grateful kingdom.

This was no ordinary place. This was a place where all of our lost socks of old roam freely and happily, liberated from the confines of the human foot and the drone of normal sock life. This is a place where lint rains from the sky, no longer stigmatized as a disposable fabric residue that causes fires.

Where all the lonely socks hang out.


This was a truly unusual but beautiful place. I wandered the fields and meadows towards the towering castle of his majesty King Missingsock, only to find it got further and further away the more my intuition told me I was going to get closer. I was truly in a nuanced, unstable dimension not made for me. And I accepted that.

It was only until I ran into an old friend, an old single sock I lost in 2008 at summer camp, that I was able to return home. He slowly drained me of my awareness, putting me into a sleep state that rendered me capable of traversing back to my own dimension.

When I awoke, I was back in my washing machine, and only had 5 out of the 6 socks I washed that cycle.

And for the first time in life, I was totally okay with that.

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