What an absolute sucker I have become for late middle age. I do all the things that retirees wish they could still do. The envy of the elderly.
I'm reading a book by Lawrence Osborne - The Ballad of a Small Player. The descriptions of compulsive gambling make me feel uneasy about other compulsions. The book has made me want to die young, a little bit, though it is getting to be late in the evening for that. Only halfway through, so who knows, perhaps in another hundred pages it will make me want to live forever, though that narrative trajectory seems unlikely.
Between two jobs, I am in a type of limbo. Awaiting the time at one role to expire before I depart for a three week vacation, returning to the new job with much training and learning to get through at the onset. My usual, comfortable pace will need to quicken. I am trying to return to
good better study habits, but my mind is fragmented from the work that I have been doing for many years now. The new job will require new skills, patience, and attention.
Chatting with CS
today through text. He has me wanting to go out with a 24mm lens and just shoot and shoot and shoot. Real film
. I have ten rolls of Ilford HP5+. He is also trying to get me to buy a medium format camera
but that is perhaps part of another story. He is always trying to get me to spend money. He will not rest until I live in desperation and squalor. Though the idea of getting out and shooting film excites me. I love and miss the feel of shooting a manual film camera. Those ten rolls of film aren't getting any younger.
The picture of Rachel above was not shot in film. It was a digital image that I removed the color in Apple's Photos app, which is a complete waste, a turd made of code, all zeroes and no ones. Apple has succeeded in making most all of their software useless or worse: common. Their new phone software has "convenience" features that can not be disabled, which is antithetical to the very idea. My hatred for them motivates me to hate others like them, also.
Thanks For Your Corporation!
This marks two days in a row now that I have not written much of a post, but have instead offered three or more unrelated paragraphs about anything that pops into my head. It is not therapeutic the way that writing can sometimes be. Instead, it is having a poor effect on me. I am saddened lightly by my inability to express and my lack of having anything worth expressing.