I've spent a great deal of time trying to connect all the strings to series of events and have come to the conclusion that I have infinitely lost myself in a giant ball of strings all mashed together in one giant mess that is far worse than the concept of a knot. I find this happening to my yarn balls- in a swift cleanup I for a second think about properly winding the yarn back together but overlook the annoyance I always encounter when the yarn is all knotted up because I'd rather deal with it later than now.
What happens, though, is I end up cutting the yarn short and tossing the knot aside rather than endlessly pulling back and forth and over and under and through and grasping at the tiniest opening possible to save a few feet or inches of yarn.
this is the price we pay for convenience. the long wait for the train on a tired night of drunkeness, taking a cab when you don't have the money to waste just for the comfort and gained time that seems worthless the next day
going through the motions of on untying these knots in life when i watched them form, or was the cause of their formation from the beginning.
sometimes those knots sit around and get together, talking over brunch about how close they are and how impossible they are being. touting the fact that nothing can break their jumbled bond. its like watching a rerun again and again because you know you like the character, or the story, but you know how its going to end so the emotional surprises are rote but comforting. unrolling these knots is like watching those reruns elicited from my predictable laziness of not sorting things out before i set it into motion to knot itself up but the comfortableness of knowing those knots will be there for me, to unravel, to cut loose, to sacrifice is reason enough to not turn the channel.
these are not metaphors, but something as simple as weaving my woes into the idea of a knotted ball of yarn. it knots therefore it is.
these hands do not separate.
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