Dark

Here's where we are.  Cory Booker is a hero for the left because. . . wait for it. . . he talked shit about Trump for 25 straight hours!  Why, my god, that's right up there with a strongly worded letter to the editor.  I mean. . . ok. . . nice, but it ain't heroic.  Not like a transitioning Jenner, right?  

I'm in a dull, foul mood.  Those few sentences should be the tell.  That's about as clever as I can get right now.  Hence the picture.  Dark and ominous and nearly evil.  It's all about the lighting, of course, not the girl.  And I've fucked with that picture plenty in post.  A photograph is about as true as your most disturbing dream.  

Of which I have been having plenty.  Not nightmares.  Disturbing dreams.  Nightmares would be a relief from what I have been experiencing, the darkest true portrayals of my current life.  And in some, past mistakes are revealed to me.  Why, I wake and wonder, did I not realize these things before?  

But this is not good breakfast, lunch, or dinner conversation.  

"How was your day, dear?"

Well, just fine, I guess.  My illness, the physical one, whatever it is, lingered.  Sore throat, achey body.  The crew worked well on the roof of the apartment, though, by all outward appearances, and it is done.  Now all there is to do is wait for a rain.  I'm sure it will be fine.  

O.K.  Not sure.  Part of what troubles my sleep.  And the rest of it.  Doomsday thinking/dreaming.  In the night, I get sick, go broke, can't afford house or car. . . etc.  

But with daylight comes. . . coffee.  And I have an almond croissant.  And though I still have a sore spot in my throat, I am determined to leave the house today, at least for a walk.  I haven't been out for days now.  

The girl, they say, wants to make more pics, though I haven't any evidence of that.  But I want to make more photographs.  After that home session, I realized all the things I had forgotten in the years since the studio.  Maybe not "all the things," but a good number of them.  That session was just pre-season.  And the trip to the coast--holy shit!  Did I fuck that up or what?  I haven't been as embarrassed as that since I shot a wedding when I was in college and the film didn't advance in the camera.  

But now I am ready.  

I found a French photographer that I have crushed on the past few days.  But I have desired his studio more.  

(link)

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Today, I hope to make an outdoor studio on my deck or in my side yard, a big canvas backdrop and lights.  I want to see what I can do. . . or if I can do.  I am weak and lazy now and need an assistant.  I have an idea for a Key West project that I am sure I will never do.  I got the idea watching this.

I was there when these old geezers were in their heyday.  Maybe they'd let me do portraits.  I haven't been to Key West for decades and didn't know there was even a tiny remnant of anything like this left.  If I'm going to do it, I'd better do it quickly before it is gone.  

But I won't. 

My mother's care will be all mine come Sunday.  And I am in need of some medical care myself.  

Lo. . . I do not invite the night.  

I just had a call from the roofing foreman.  He is on his way to walk with me for a final inspection.  I will show him what else I need to have done.  Oh. . . and he will want his money.  He is not my friend, just another hired hand.  

And so it goes.  I will try to rally.  The day is bright and hot and I am small, fleshy, and pale.  I will try to get in a walk and lie by the pool for a few minutes to bring back a little color.  Did I tell you about my beautician?  She did a lovely job and I look like an Italian movie star again, but she is going to have a hip replacement and our future together is uncertain.  I may have to find a different beautician after what?  Twenty years?  

Yea.  The world changes.  And it is all for the better, right?  Keep a positive outlook and stick to the sunny side of the street.  

But wear a hat and sunglasses and be sure use your sunscreen.