MY THIRTY MINUTE HUB

Okay, here goes. The thirty minute hub. Well, I have clothes in the dryer. Usually, I sit in the laundry room and watch the dryer door. I mean, no sock is going to escape on my watch. BUT I just realized, it’s quite possible they are escaping from the washing machine, not the dryer. I mean I get it. They’re agitated and agitated enough that they just jump right out of the machine, even top loading machines.

Well, I decided to trust, to have faith. I’ll work on my thirty minute hub and God can watch the socks! How is that for faith? For surrender? For Let Go, Let God. Well, we’ll see. I have ten pairs of socks in there now, and we will count them at the end of this blog.

Okay, so when you write one of these thirty minute challenge dealywhoppers, you just write off the top of your brain (not your head). If you wrote off the top of your head, you’d produce a hairy blog, really hairy, or a grey blog, or a blonde blog, or in some cases, a bald blog and how interesting is that? Not very! So I am writing off the top of my brain. My mind says, “give it up! Write about something interesting or intelligent.”

Well, I thought this was pretty intelligent. So what isn’t brilliant about this blog so far? Come on, critical mind, tell me. See, you can’t, because this is brilliant through and through.

When you right off the top for thirty minutes, you forget about being write. You just write and assume it will be right, the right stuff, right enough to engender (Oh, what a word!) some traffic.
I should have set a timer because I’ve been writing for several days now! Just kidding. So the dryer is still tumbling, but it seems that I hear a voice, “help me.” It seems to be coming from the street in front of my house, so I will check it out.

Well, wouldn’t you know, one of my socks is out there getting run over every thirty seconds. This street, at this time of day, is a main thoroughfare for drunk drivers avoiding the main drag. Of course, I couldn’t believe my eyes, as I shone the flashlight on the sock, let alone believe my ears. I just stood there, like a drill instructor, staring at the sock spotlighted by the flashlight.

“Hey, so what’s up sock? I mean, come on, you betray me, run out in the street like a little kid, and then you get run over and you want me to rescue you. Hey, I’m in a twelve step program and I ain’t rescuing anyone.”

Well, but then I thought, hey, I need my sock to make an even pair. I mean, after all, a pear is the only thing in life you can have one of and still have a pair. The sock doesn’t fit that category of pear, so maybe, just this once, I better rescue the sock.

“Okay, I’ll come and get you, but don’t move.”

And sure enough, that damned sock, as soon as I approached it, stood up on its sole and heal and hopped further across the street.

“Hey, are you insane or what? Don’t move. Stay right where you are. Do you want help or not?”

“Yes, I want help, but not from you. You’re already angry with me, and God knows what you’re going to do with me when you get your hands on me. I know you’re going to stick me back in the washing machine and round and round and round I’ll go. Makes me dizzy and sick. Then you’re going to dry me again and stick me back in that very disorganized sock drawer where I have to hang out with a bunch of socks you ought to just throw away. I don’t want help from you. Somebody else will come along, I’m sure. Somebody else who will really appreciate me.”

“Okay, I tell you what. I’ll go inside and get your mate, and I’ll toss your mate out here, so you can both be together. How’s that?”

“You idiot. I don’t have a mate. Remember, my mate escaped last week, and you just tossed me in the drawer, and you even wore me last week. You matched me up with some other sock that you thought looked like me, but let me tell you, there was no resemblance at all. It was an insult to me, and I’m surprised no one called you on it.”

Wow, this is getting pretty serious. Cars are zooming by. A few people have honked their horns. Oops, here comes a patrol car. Well, I’‘ll just mosey on over to the neighbors and pretend I’m taking in their Christmas lights.

“Are you having a problem sir?”

So what am I supposed to tell him? I’m out here arguing with one of my socks? I mean I know I’m stupid enough to be having this conversation in the first place, and I’m even stupider to be publishing the entire event for the world to read, but telling my story to Mr. Deputy. Not a chance. Before I get a chance to decide what to say, the sock shouts really loud this time.

“Somebody help me.”

The Deputy looks at me and says, “Did you hear that?”

“No, Officer, I didn’t hear anything, like what did you hear?”
.
“You didn’t hear a voice saying, ‘Somebody help me.’?”

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call for backup?”

“No, no, we’ve had about a hundred calls from motorists saying there is someone out here calling for help, and I just heard it myself.”

“Well, my socks off to you, officer. You got better hearing than I do.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, you’re quite the deputy and I like your socks.”

“What?”

“I said, we need more policemen like you who really care.”

“Well, thank you, I could have sworn you said something about a sock.”

“Nope, must be the noise out here. I’m going in. I have stuff in the dryer.”

“There is it again. Did you hear that?”

Well, I did, but I was not going to acknowledge the pitiful plea, "I’m sorry, take me with you." I mean sometimes you just have to own your side of the fence and suck it up. You burn bridges and that’s what happens!

‘“I didn’t hear a thing, officer. Don’t know what to tell you. Good night, and thanks for taking care of our little community.”

So back inside I went, and here I am again finishing up my thirty minute hub. I went into the laundry room and checked the dryer. I opened that dryer door and gave them all a speech.
“Hey, you know what? Any of you who want to hop out of this dryer, do it now. Go ahead and join your buddy out there on the street. See what I care. I know my drawer is pretty disorganized, but I at least keep you clean.”

“But you walk on us! Not a fun life to have someone walk on you ALL THE TIME.”

O my God, The sock revolution of 2010. You know what, I’m shutting the dryer door and going back to the computer. So here I sit to finish up my thirty minute blog. And I hear yet another voice.

“So you think we like being poked and stricken while you sit there all smug because you’re a hubber or a blogger or a writer or a poet? How would you like someone to pound on your head over and over again. I mean the “Z” has it easy, but the rest of us, man we are sore, really sore.”

Okay, okay. I’m going to stop this thirty minute deallywhopper. Have no idea if I have met the criteria of thirty minutes, but the next thing is the waves I’m listening to on the stereo are going to start pouring out of the speakers. Whoa! Should’ve kept my imagination quiet on that one. Hey, stop, stop, you’re getting my computer all wet.

And worse, I can hear all the socks in the dryer laughing up a storm.