Existential dread: the feeling of being stuck in a never-ending cycle of lost and mismatched socks.

It's like the universe is conspiring against us, taunting us with its infinite variety and our own limited capacity to keep up.

And for what? So we can match our socks, and then, inevitably, lose the match?

Is this the meaninglessness of existence we've been searching for?

Or are we just lazy about putting away our socks?