Strings

Happy holidays.

We are celebrating a year with this blog, as the whole mess began last Christmas break, 2014. But it’s the silent kind of celebrating, without champagne or music. It’s the kind where you give yourself a pat on the back and keep writing.

I like the champagne and music idea better.

I just might have a one person dance party after I sign off. Actually, I will be having a one person dance party, because one year is a long time. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525, 600 minutes. Damn.

Can you even comprehend how much can change in 525,600 minutes?!

Everything. Everything can change.

Getting to the point, I would like to make an analogy, as I do about 98.54% of the time in my writing.

We are full of strings.

Some might be made of yarn, some could be thick paracord, or maybe the strings are thin, like floss. Either way, we’re full of these strands.

Every time a new person comes into our lives, we get more strings.

As you can imagine, in our long, human lifetime of approx. 82 years, our strings get tangled and knotted and jumbled up into a huge mess.

This mess is a good thing.

Because one day, you’re going to find yourself dangling over the side of a cliff with an outstretched hand.

And I know damn well that I want the people who have woven thick cords into my life to be my rescue squad. Unknown

Therefore, in the past year, some of my strings have snapped. I’ve cut them off: their floss was just too insignificant in my big scheme of things.

I suggest that you do the same, because floss can only hold you together for so long.

Keep your strings tough, people. But don’t be afraid to snap a few, they weren’t doing anything but taking up room. I promise that they’ll be replaced very soon, with colorful, bright yarn, strong enough to save your sorry ass from falling.

I wish you all the best, and I believe it’s time for my dance party celebration.

Cheers.

Maddie Rheinheimer

 

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