I cannot get going. Sometimes it’s like there’s no fuel in the tank. The crushing claustrophobia bought on by the mess I’ve surrounded myself with.
The possessions and things I’m whittling away. Reducing the noise. The process has stopped. There’s more to go out the door. Oh yes. I just haven found ways to justify them yet.
There’s a broken camera that was a gift. It takes great photos but has a busted wind on mechanism. The shutter goes off as you wind it on randomly. I should gift it to someones as it was given to me. Sentimentality keeps it close.
It’s been hard to be motivated. Its been hard to get out and take photos. To do the things I love the most. It should be easy, but it is not always easy.
There’s so much time wasting. The guilt of wasting it. The self loathing. The talks to myself as I chain smoke and pace the yard at night. Often looking to the sky to remind myself of my place.
I’ve been trying to edit and archive all my photos. It is a process that mostly involves staring blankly at the screen as I click through a representation of the years of my life and the people I’ve shared it with.
It’s life with all the boring bits taken out. And its lovely.