Socks

Woke up to a drippy, sleepy slow day, the kind of day that makes me want to listen to classical music and clean the house. A day spent in socks, and it is only in the sudden stillness between drizzling that I hear the tick tock of the clock. Goddamn weatherman says the clouds will clear in the afternoon; I really wish they wouldn't.

Anyhoo, here is what I am thinking: Nothing. So let's look at some pretty pictures, shall we? I love love love this:
And this. You may have to click on image to enlarge, and for that I am truly sorry. Apropos of nothing but the upcoming holiday, this, though I have never been a fan of Judy Garland:

And then this--maybe you've seen it, maybe not. (On days like this I tuck my feet beneath my body on the couch and don't really care.)

That's that, and as I finish this post the rain has stopped. It is what it is. Which reminds me: One time I was talking to a friend whose first language is Spanish. I forget what we were talking about but of course it was in English because I took French in school following a cute boy who sang about ratatouille. But that is neither here nor there and in our very English language conversation my friend spelled out the word socks and although I don't remember what we were talking about I do know it had nothing to do with feet or footwear or even spelling for that matter. What? I said. Socks, she said. What? Socks. What? Socks, and it went on like this for too long until she finally slowed down to say es lo que es as if I were a retard. Which I am, en espanol, although if we were speaking French it would simply mean I was late. It is what it is in Spanish. Only to me it sounded as if she were spelling socks and to this day I think socks when really I mean fuck it. See? A day spent in socks. Told 'ya.