I'm shaky. Can't wake up. The pain got to be too much. Last night I put a lidocaine patch on my knee. It seemed to work. I put them all over my body. Took muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatories. Got woozy and went to bed early. Slept. I could still be sleeping. Maybe should. It is hard to tell what will come out of the miasma today.
Oh. . . I remember some things. My Miami pal sent me a link to her new website. She graduated with a degree in digital media. She made a really nice website for herself. She told me to use Canva to make mine. Said she would help. So I went to Canva to try. I was as lost there as I was in Squarespace. I do think that some of Canva's templates are more appealing to me. I made a rudimentary page and then ran into the same trouble as always. I need to write some things about myself, the website, what I am doing. Then I have to make decisions about which images to use and in what categories. I want to remain "in the shadows" of the website. I like the idea of an anonymous photographer and an anonymous audience. Of course. But my Miami friend is now part of the equation. She became the audience for the website. I like my smeary, blurry, naive vernacular images. The average Jill or Joe will not. Suddenly, with just this offer of help, I feel the need to state a purpose for the site and to define my target audience. Corporate shit.
I don't want to.
Last night, I tried watching some tutorials on how to build a website on Canva. I lost interest in a few minutes.
Still, it is probably good for me to look at my images in a different way. Maybe. The best artists say they don't listen to critics or look at reviews. I don't truly believe them, though. They must to some extent.
In the afternoon, I took my Leicas to the Irish pub to see what kind of images I might make. The bartender is a woman who saw the pics I took of my Miami friend and said she wanted me to photograph her. I've not wanted to, but she was very nice when she saw me. I told her Miami had asked me to take some pics for the website. It was fairly early, but the bar was already getting crowded. I walked around and took a few snapshots, but I quickly realized this was not my kind of gig. I would tell my Miami friend so.
But I wondered what was my kind of gig? Maybe I'm not so very good at all.
I left the bar and headed to the grocers to get what I needed to make dinner. But when I got to my mother's house, she told me once again she'd already eaten and I didn't need to fix her any dinner. I blew a gasket.
"All you have to do is pick up the phone to tell me. Then I won't have to spend my money and time at the grocers. I can just get something for myself from my side of town."
Her side of town has no good restaurants. It is all fast food chain restaurants over there.
That set the tone for the rest of the evening.
And so, the liquor, the lidocaine patches, the anti-inflammatories, and the muscle relaxers.
And now I feel like Gumby.
Oh. . . and my beautician cancelled on me at the last minute yesterday. I look like a homeless cowboy. I am thinking about getting a new beautician, but you know how that goes. It is hard starting over with someone.
Change, etc.
My mother is up. I'll need to attend now.
Life is good. Life is great. Yay life.
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