Congratulations Old Sport

I'm sitting on new cameras galore and have quit taking photographs.  It is typical.  I bought a new guitar once and didn't play it for about six months.  Etc. It is a guilt, perhaps, inculcated by upbringing with the cheapest of everything.  It was wise, probably, but it scarred me, if scarred is the right word.  And it wasn't my parents', really.  I am just a prick.  They gave me more than the other hillbillies around me had.   That was in part due to my being an only child.  I was spoiled.  So I was cool enough in my 'hood.  But my 'hood wasn't the world.  My parents were immune to the world, it seems.  My mother still is.  "It all comes from the same place, they just put different labels on them."  That is her life's mantra.  "Good enough."  She has never indulged herself on anything.  She was scarred herself by growing up with a ne'er do well father during the depression.  He was a loathsome man in most respects.  I'll tell you about that another time.  I have never really thought about that until now and I want to gather my thoughts about him before I begin.  Because of him, though, my mother has given herself comforts, no doubt.  But they are always the cheapest of comforts.  I have gone a couple steps further.  Still, the guilt is always with me.

But it could be something else.  Some band has snapped.  I have worn myself out completely.  I slept all weekend and did nothing.  I would like to do that ad infinitum.  I have millions of photos that need working, but I can't bring myself to do it.  I have a new 27" iMac and a Wacom tablet and a room that has been straightened and cleaned.  But I don't want to go in there.  And the thought of beginning a new project makes me want to weep.  So for now, you and I are stuck with whatever old images I can come up with.

This morning, I am up with the old men again, waiting for the day's misery to begin.  Another day at the factory.

Q's wife gave birth this weekend to a bouncing baby boy.  Let us call him Q2.  Q now has endless writing and photographic material.  He and his wife are surely the Ozzie and Harriet of the 21st Century.  Son of a gun.