Each of the sculptures in the booth where we're selling Katie's work is labeled with a small, kraft tag tied to the piece with a small length of dark green string.
For new pieces, she's left a small baggie of the strings in tidy, knotted bundles at the booth. I unknot the bundle to obtain a single piece of string for a new tag, and silently marvel at her organization, her foresight and planning for even little things like this.
But when I try to retie the knot, what was an elegant, neat whorl of string disintegrates in my hands into a disorganized, depressing tangle that I spend longer than it should take trying to fix.
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One year ago: Agoraphobia
Two years ago: Competitive
Three years ago: Make-Up Work
Four years ago: No Making Out Tonight
Seven years ago: A Little Forceful
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