This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong.
let’s think about the internet for a second. how does it work? and digital cameras? and how can i talk into my phone and have it somehow carry my voice all the way across the world?
in ten years it will be irrelevant to call the 1920’s “the twenties” because we’ll be in the midst of a new twenties. will it be roaring?
i like to crochet because i can just look at it and it makes sense what’s happening—the hook pulls the loops through, over and over, and that’s what makes the fabric. it’s something concrete, something reliable, that pulls me back in when the world gets to be too overwhelming and thinking about those intangible things like moments and sounds and time threaten to swallow everything up.