Socks! Why did it have to be socks?!
Socks! Why did it have to be socks?!
Where Emma battles the humble sock.
Well, after the Great Sock Debacle of Tuesday. Things have returned to a type of normal.
How can your *lose* an entire drawer full of socks? I mean a whole drawer!?
Frankly, the humble sock is the epitome of frustration to a person with a disease like Parkinson’s. Something so simple can cause a whole world of challenges.
Picture waking after a restful night’s sleep on a luxurious linen-cladbed…Waking groggily after a restless night getting entangled in bedding as you do the Parky Jig*. Stottering to the bathroom via a few bumps off the corridor walls, negotiate clambering into the bath and after wrestling the shower curtain (I’m convinced it has a vendetta against me) relief under the deliciously hot water. Those few precious moments where there is minimal demand on thinking or movement and I can feel good.
Dry + Dress. Stage 2.
Somedays air drying is the only way; nice in summer, death in winter. (Thank you to the excellent soul who slipped a DM recommending towel bathrobe…at 45 I finally get why they make them 💡) My clothing has evolved in the three years since my diagnosis: elastic is my BFF. Minimal buttons, zips and twiddly bits. But oh god! Socks.
Seriously.
The bending. The co-ordination. A foot bending the opposite way to your shaking hand trying to slip that tiny hole over the twitching toes. Whether yours is a worsted-hose or a small-wrinkled silky number the application of socks to feet is a bore. This morning was a rapid 5mins per foot. Other days I don’t even try. It’s a small thing in the scheme of a day and yet it can set the tone.
Is depression caused by socks a thing?
If I don’t achieve this act I feel like Parkinson’s has me. If I do achieve victory over a fuzzy tube of fabric I feel invincible! Well, that’s a little exaggerated. But you get the idea.
I think it’s tough as a human who has always been so capable of stuff; practical, emotional and motivated to get on even if I was winging it a little. To find the simple tasks are now dominant thoughts. I don’t want to worry about socks, elasticated waists or unbreakable wine glasses. I want to think big thoughts, make exciting art, provide stimulating conversation. The bitter irony is the more I rail against the minutiae the more out of control it gets. Parkinson’s feeds on stress and makes sock dressing even harder.
Gandalf is right, of course. (Wizard 💪🏻) That self-love and kindness, taking the time to gain a sense of perspective is key. So to that end, I have been sock shopping. Oh yes.
Ok, not these ones. $1,500 is a touch outside my budget. But these! 👇🏻
They are even called Early Bird...
I’m old enough now that any sartorial elegance I once had means I can officially Not Give A Damn and wear what I want.
Be good and be careful of the socks…still pretty convinced they are trying to take over the world.
Emma xx
P.S. I really need some more friends who love to drink wine, swear discuss new monetary theory. Take pity and forward to your friends or arch-nemesis.
*Parky Jig: no matter how exhausted you may be, the body starts twitching, leaping and shaking. Especially just before an attempt at sleep.