Wednesday, another eight hundred mile an hour day, but a good day I guess.
Thursday, a nine hundred mile an hour day, dear god; a less good day than yesterday, but Friday on the horizon. Thank god for Friday (on the horizon). A litany, I know, but sometimes that's what you've got: a smile, a litany, a whiskey and water.
A package arrived from B&H in New York, a remote control for the studio lights and beakers of various sizes for mixing developer, stop bath and fixer. Necessary items thought I when I ordered them. Now will I use them? A sad commentary on your life when some idle issue like this makes it into your journal, sitting here, feet up, the NPR News Hour finishing on the tube, a silent series of the names and the pictures of soldiers killed in Iraq blinking on the screen.
Friday. A good day, but a blur, a day lived as if I were twenty years old and running. My, my how the hours fly.
Have you developed your film?
No, not yet.