I’m smoking. Just the one packet, I swear it. It’s a slippery slope though, so I’d better stop it properly, right after I finish this packet.
The love hate relationship I have with smoking confuses me. Nicotine is harder to kick than clonazepam. And it costs so much money, money that is better spent on books and evil retro salt & pepper shakers. I shouldn’t have bought a packet at all, but I was getting so sick of chewing gum. I looked like a feral horse munching desperately on grass after a period of near starvation.
I’m feeling a little lacking in confidence regarding photography too. I sit here with a cigarette in my hand glaring at photoshop. I don’t have the confidence that allows me to believe in what I’m doing, especially if what i’m doing seems to be unpopular or uncommon. I’m working on that by continuing with my extreme photography regardless of that sinking feeling in my gut. Sometimes I suspect I shouldn’t engage in anything that is remotely subjective. Other times I suspect that coping with subjectivity is a challenge I have to face or just curl up in a pink fluffy ball and give up.
Do I sound depressed today? I’m not. I’m actually feeling rather good tonight. I bought the perfect jacket and the new Sookie Stackhouse book today. I have creme eggs to eat tonight, while I ignore my ever expanding girth. I’m warm! At the moment being warm is awesome. The only upside to a rapidly approaching winter is that warm and cosy feeling I get when I’m eskimoing it and the heater is successfully giving the cold a beating.
Oh my, I’ve run out of things to say. How about another photography experiment, or two, to assault your eyes?
You’re more than welcome. After all there’s nothing quite like visual assault on a Thursday evening. Well that and Project Runway, but that isn’t on for another hour.
