I trust string.

I sit on my bed sewing by hand, eyeing my new sewing machine I have yet to unbox.

As the monotony of pulling theared through the eye of the needle wears on me. I think about how the jeans I’m holding are a series of thread, pieces of string I trust to not fall apart to leave me bare assed in public.

I speak literally and I take things literally, and being a literal person communication can feel like a game without a rule book. Eventually communication can feel like sound. I know when this person makes sound, good things come of it. And no matter how good this person sounds, nothing good comes of it and dread there noise. What I mean by this is, I hear you but I’m relying on your actions for a signal of what you actually mean.

And sometimes I have days where, I feel like I trust a mere string to have by back(side) more than people.

And that feels crazy, how can string hold so much. This article might be coming from a place of burn out in job disatififation. But regardless, it is interesting to compare the amounts of trust you have in trivial things to other trivial or monumnetal things.