Shirtroulette and solemates

After many, many years of being schooled at home, I've just now entered a public school for my senior year. It meets at a community college and you can finish up your high school credits while you take college classes, and it's freeeee!
Unfortunately, since I'm no longer in charge of my own schedule to such a degree, I have to be up and ready much earlier than I'm used to. For the past two months I've been getting dressed in the normal way, picking things out every morning, but I've spent more time deliberating over shirt choices than I really want to spend (and they're not even that different from each other -- "Should I wear the geeky t-shirt with The Princess Bride and physics or the geeky t-shirt with a DeLorean and a TARDIS?").
That fact, combined with a sudden lust for reorganization, led to the creation of shirtroulette.
All of my best t-shirts and tank tops have been rolled up so that they're practically indistinguishable to the touch. I've placed them all in a drawer, and every night I close my eyes, open the drawer, and reach in. Whichever shirt I grab is the shirt I wear, though I'm free to choose from a number of different pairs of jeans to go with it, or even some black pants if I'm feeling creative.
Each night I move the shirts around a bit after selecting so that the selection of a new shirt the next night is a bigger surprise.
I've just implemented this system, and so far I'm pleased with the results. It makes it a lot easier to just pick a shirt and it brings an element of adventure to getting dressed!
Then again, I feel there's an element of adventure to sitting on my desk backwards and putting my feet on my chair, so maybe I'm just very easily entertained. After all, I can personify almost anything and make it into a story. This comes in handy if I'm feeling bored and want to talk to inanimate objects, but it's less handy when it makes me feel empathy for lonely socks.
Last night, when I was putting away my laundry, I discovered that one poor little sock was missing its solemate. I tried not to think too much of it, just set the sock aside and kept putting things away. But then, when I was nearing the bottom of the basket, I found another lonely little sock! With much rejoicing, I held it aloft and cried "Laura, look!  The black sock isn't alone anymore! I found its little friend!"
I'm trying to pretend the lonely black sock in the living room and the lonely white sock in the family room don't exist. Otherwise I'll start imagining their feelings and end up wearing blatantly mismatched socks one day so they won't feel so sad.