Wet Socks is the feeling you get when you grow up: an unforgiving and inevitable blend of grandiose ideas and petty irritations, epiphanies that strike at inconvenient moments, and questions that just grab onto you and refuse to leave you alone.

Some days I’m wondering about optimism and why it seems more difficult than it appears. Other days I’m ranting about how the internet plays games with our minds, yet it’s good for us.

These thoughts leave me damp, like wet socks. Even after they dry up, you still end up thinking about that murky, weird feeling.

This is my playlist of drips. Some tiny drops, some gushes of consciousness. All of them are mine.