(Evelyn)
Not drinking doesn't actually help me much, if at all. I have purchased a few new things recently, and then lost some important pieces - a flash umbrella sheath and a usb drive. The umbrella sheath can be somewhat easily replaced. The thousands of images on the drive can not. Or, it would take me a very long time to recreate them, and none would be the exact same. The boy might find it fun at first, but that feeling would give way quickly to tedium.
The end result being that I lost thousands of pictures. There were some good ones in there, I had thought, and I had hoped to go through them to preserve the best among them. Why I put the usb drive in my pocket to go to work is beyond me. I suspect that I lost it at the parking lot on Mission St. when I was paying the attendant and getting my car. The new drives are impossibly small. They resist ongoing personal possession.
All of this loss seems to be the result of near total sobriety, which has become my new sworn enemy. If I am going to lose things I want it to be the result of intoxication, not clarity.
The loss hurts, a bit. The heart attaches to images, essences captured, hopefully preserved. The heart is like a child, it has little use in understanding things, it just wants. What mine wanted was to keep the pictures I had taken.
Ah well, I will learn to live differently. That is easy enough to do. My life is so self-indulgent and intemperate at times that almost any change ends up being for the better. To live life I must place a little regular confidence in my craziness and luck. The two forces fight for attention in the vanity fun mirrors of my mind. I must be more willing to lean on the erraticism a bit, not back down from the expectations of my own organized lunacy.
Loss wrenches the gears of indulgence.
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