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Research suggests that the weight of a mental barrier is actually less than two ounces.
This research has been conducted in the laboratory known as my bathroom. It is here that I observed, on more than one occasion, the appearance of my husband's socks atop our hamper. For months, I struggled to determine why they never seemed to make it inside, hypothesizing it was because they are the last articles of dirty clothing he removes en route to bed. I suspected his socks fell into the category of "afterthought" and were casually tossed back into the bathroom once he stepped out of it.
This would be no particular cause for alarm had I not recently found myself falling under the "Sock Spell." Once a poised observer of curious behavior, I had suddenly started thinking differently. At first, my thoughts were playful. Oh, isn't that silly? But with time, they grew restrictive. I'll move them tomorrow. Hmmm, they look kinda heavy. Maybe it's not a good idea to move them after all.
The Sock Spell had a disturbing consequence which physically manifested itself on our floor. Both my husband and I began piling our laundry in front of the hamper, under the watchful eyes of the Sock Lords peering down from Their bamboo throne. Neither one of us dared to lift the lid. What would we find inside? How could we be certain putting the laundry away would be worth it? Things seemed easier this way. Untidy and rather difficult to walk around, but, errr, easier.
And then one evening, I was struck by the emotional cesspool I had become. This wasn't the real me! I may be regularly overwhelmed by laundry, but I have never been ruled by it! I pulled out my scale to confront the weight of this mental impasse, and there it was: the block, the barrier, the same phenomenon that I am convinced leaves passion and dreams in purgatory was a whopping one and five-eighths ounces.
Clearly, it was time to lift the lid.
