Describe a day in the life of a project that you have made, or are in the process of making.
It is day twenty of the expedition to the Upper Sock Drawer to learn the secrets of the rare and elusive hand-knit sock. I have been fascinated with this mighty beast since childhood, and I am hopeful that this trip will finally allow me to face my dream of seeing the hand-knit sock in action. Equipped with our ground-breaking experimental scientific equipment, I believe our chances for success are significantly higher than those of expeditions before us. However, I am humbled by the sacrifices taken by those brave explorers from so many years ago, who paid the ultimate price to provide us with what currently forms the basis of our knowledge of this amazing monster.
The trip to the Upper Sock Drawer was relatively calm and easy, although I had to wait to begin for today’s attempt until I got home from work. If only I could devote my life solely to the call of science, but alas, my funding options are meager and I must toil to continue to finance these events.
To reach the Upper Sock Drawer, one must traverse the beige low-quality wall-to-wall carpet desert. This is an arduous journey, reminding one that one’s battle with the vacuum cleaner will be endless and never will the matted plastic fibers look as they did when the carpet was first installed. Then, the Great Closet Door must be opened. This requires far less effort than the earlier leg of the journey, as the knob turns easily from years of constant use. From there, mount the steep cliff face known as “White Particleboard Dresser from Childhood” until the uppermost region has been surmounted.
But soft! I catch a scent on the breeze…. yes, yes, it is wool. There may be hand-knit socks about! Quickly, gentlemen, take your positions to observe these creatures if they should appear!
I do catch a hint of artisan colourings, indicating that these hand-knit socks are not merely the offspring big-box store brand sock wool, but perhaps the progeny of indie dyers.
Wait. Something is wrong.
These are not the hand-knit socks we seek, frolicking in their daily activities. These socks seem… listless. Potentially, lifeless. The fibers look exhausted. Several pairs, non-matching, collapsed together above the Upper Sock Drawer…. What’s that? The soles… have visible dirt.
These are the hand-knit sock community’s cast-out worn socks, awaiting resurrection. They dream of the blessed bath of wool wash and cool water; that eternal place of rejuvenation that all hand-knit socks believe in. It is a cornerstone of their mythology, almost as much as the tales of The Hand That Darns, able to heal a sock of any hole.
It pains my heart to see them this way. How long have they laid here, separated from their brethren as pariahs of the thriving sock drawer below?
I… I am a man of science, hardened by my trials in the heartless wilderness, but I cannot turn away from such suffering. Men, we will collect these weak hand-knit socks and bring them back to camp. We shall nurse them back to health, and eventually release them back into the wild to join the rest of the hand-knit socks of this region. Perhaps, someday, we can observe them happily walking about with the other socks, whole and beautiful.