dear internet,

fhere are threethreethere there are three days left of to e year. i normally draft my letters in the notes app, but this time i am writing directly on the tinyletter platform, which will not let me backspace. today i dropped a stitch in the scarf i have been impeccably knitting for months, unraveled several inches of wool, unraveled in other ways, called my mother, texted my friends, cried in the shower, then picked up the stitches imperfectly and knitted three uneven, gaping rows of knitting. tomorrow morning i’ll decide whether i can live with the imperfection or whether i’d prefer to start all over. none of this is a metaphor, nor a perfectly on-the-nose illustration of what the year has been like, nor a sign of things to come; it holds no narrative weight beyond the few hours i spent in the living room and then at the dining table and then in the bathroom and then in the kitchen and then on my bedroom floor, holding these strands of blue wool in my hands, and doing what came next.

love,
t