I like this picture more than most. When I saw it come up on the screen in Lightroom, I just stared for a long time. What did I do here that I can recreate? It is as if I smeared the photograph, wiped some solvent across the face of it. Whatever. I am talking too much about the image. Let us just look at it.
I moped horribly yesterday. It was a horrible day. I went early to exercise, then came home and started some much needed weeding. I told myself I would weed for half an hour. After what seemed much longer than that, I put the weeds I had pulled into the yard trash and came inside. It had been ten minutes. I couldn't believe it. I would have bet forty.
I had planned to do other productive things, but after I showered, I ate a slice of pizza from the night before with a fried egg on top, and I poured a mimosa. Somehow that didn't work for me. I decided to get on the Vespa and go to the city to take some pictures. When I got to the market, it was pretty deserted. It was as people-less as I've ever seen it. I decided to drive through the downtown, but that was fruitless as well. I turned the bike toward my distant home and the clouds rolled in. The day was turning ugly. I made it to the house just before the spitting, intermittent drizzles began.
I had written my mother that I would cook dinner. I checked, and she hadn't responded, so I went to the grocery store and got the fixin's. When I got home, I had a message from her that she would cook. That's the way it goes. So I had another mimosa and decided it was a good day to start cleaning up the study which has become a photography dumping ground. I need to organize badly, but I am not good at it. Overwhelmed, I sat down and stared. And stared. And then I began to think dreadful thoughts and fell ever deeper into depression.
And that is how I spent the rest of the day.
I went to my mother's for dinner and was able to finish setting up the Apple TV that I had given her. I told her to begin by watching "Madmen." I told her what it was about, and that started us down memory lane, remembering this place before the big fantasy industry came, before there were people. It was a freaking wonderland of adventure and beauty. We talked about that for the rest of the night.
I had a scotch waiting in the car for me for the drive home.
I bought a Fire Stick from Amazon and sat down to set it up with my apps. YouTube works differently on Amazon than it does on Apple, and somehow I got my YouTube account. I spent a lot of time watching things I've made or things I've watched before. I watched some videos on Lee Friedlander, and then I wanted to be a photographer again. Maybe it was that or maybe just listening to music, but something made me feel better. Sitting on the couch with a drink, I thought of what I could do again, what I should do. By the time I went to bed, I felt alright.
Woke at five, the house chilly, somehow the covers not quite covering all of me. What the hell. I got up and began my day. Now I've read the news and drank the coffee, and I wait to see which version of me will show up. I am not going to the factory today, so I can do anything. Or I could do nothing again which would be terrible. What was it I thought of last night? What had I remembered? It wasn't a thinking memory so much as an emotional one, just a buzz that ran through me.
I am good at doing things in my head in the future. I am great at it. The present keeps tripping me up, though, that actuality of things. And I forget. What was it? What had I planned? It is hard to remember.
Action is the enemy of thought. And vice-versa.
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