My black cashmere sock has resurfaced after a good year and a half. You are perhaps wondering what would possess me to hang onto one mismatched sock for so long. Well, the reason is threefold.

One, it’s cashmere. It was expensive, as far as socks go. And I knew that if I were to ever buy a replacement pair, I would undoubtedly, at some point, lose one of them. So then I would still have a complete pair. But look at THESE. So cute and affordable.

Secondly, things have a way of disappearing and reappearing around here at a somewhat alarming rate (as you may have noticed). I’ve learned to roll with it. Usually they don’t stay missing for long. This particular sock must have been having a really epic adventure. I guess the rich really do have more fun. And no, I have nothing to do with these possessions that come and go like mosquito bites. It’s merely a hazard of living with a scatterbrained writer.

And finally, I mean, how much room does one sock take? Hardly any. It cost me nothing to leave it when I organized my sock drawer last weekend (no, really, it’s true. Don’t envy my crazy rockstar lifestyle).

So anyway, it magically appeared tonight when I went down to the laundry room and gathered up some odds and ends from the table. I know my darling husband didn’t have a thing to do with it. Really, I don’t have the slightest idea where it has been all this time.

I’ve had a bit of bloggers block for the last little bit. Honestly I don’t have a lot going on to write about, and I’m too busy trying to reach my Goodreads goal to write. My goal this year is 60, eight more than the unattainable goal of 52 from last year. I only fell short by ONE measly book, if you recall. I’m off to a good start. I’m on number six already. But The Grownup was less than a hundred pages….whatever, I’m still counting it. Here’s a link for your own copy: The Grownup if you’ve never tried Gillian Flynn, you really should.

Currently working on The Couple Next Door, which wasn’t nearly as thrilling as all the Instagram posts had led me to believe. {I won’t bore you with all the bookish details here, I plan to put all my reviews in their own category eventually}.

Friday nights at the Johnson Plantation have been reduced to taco soup from the freezer and watching Rocky. Which is fine by me. I just wish somebody could deliver oysters like they deliver pizza. Until then….