Lazy

The lazier I get, the happier I am.  I don't mind being "lazy" anymore.  It feels good.  It makes me almost giddy.  It has been the most glorious weather for three days running, sunny, cloudless, temperatures that rest "like a soft hand upon your cheek."  And for three days, I barely moved.  I didn't do anything, even shower.  I don't think I stink, though.  It's my new diet.  I smell like strawberries.  I'm filled with helium. 

It can't continue, though, this laziness that isn't exactly laziness.  I don't lie around in bed.  I've ben busy making photo experiments, going through cameras, trying filters and lenses in new combos, and even ordering a new/old black and white positive slide film with its necessary developing chemicals.  I think that was probably a mistake.  After buying the chemicals which were described as "simplified," I read up on the process.  It takes a mighty long time to develop this film and a lot of crazy steps.  I'll do it, but I'll surely make mistakes and get pissed off and wonder why in the hell I want to shoot film when I have so many wonderful digital cameras.  

And yet. . . I'm excited.  

Most of my editing experiments went awry, too.  Selavy.  You know the old saying.  There are a lot of them.  Pick one. 

But I am exaggerating a bit, I think.  I have gone to the grocers, to the liquor store, and to my mother's.  And people have come by the house in the evening.  And there are, of course, the endless lascivious text messages from various women.  O.K.  I DO make things up.  

But I skipped out on walking and the gym.  Now that I think about it, it has only been the exercising I have eschewed.  No wonder I feel so peppy.  

And of course there is skipping the news reports which certainly must lighten my mood.  I don't want the moment by moment opinions and commentary.  My teachers were wrong.  I don't need to "keep up with current events."  Indeed, I think a weekly paper is just the thing.  

"A man walks into the cafe."

"Who?"

"Bob.  A man named Bob walks into a cafe."

"What does he look like?"

"He's wearing checkered pants and a cook's white button up jacket."

"Is he a chef?"

"I don't know.  Our conversation was brief.  He asks me what I would do if I was on a boat with four cigarettes and no matches.  I just look at him.  Then he says throw a cigarette overboard.  The boat becomes a little lighter."

"Jesus." 

 "I know." 

That actually happened.  Life is strange.  

Here's a song that I think gets better as you listen.  Give it a minute.  I love simple songs, duets and such.  But if you want the studio version, I'll put that here, too.  It might be a little too hillbilly for you, though.  I won't judge you if you don't like it.