Sunday. To bed at ten, up without the alarm before seven, off to breakfast and back on a nice sunny morning. Best to enjoy it as they're saying rain late tomorrow and Tuesday. We need the rain. Needing is not the same thing as liking, but I find life has its own sense of humor.
“We'll do something today.” How often have we started our morning with that? How many of those mornings slid into the afternoon without anything to show for it? Maybe best let it rest. Still: sun, warm, the day does beckon.
Later. The rest of the morning spent finishing up the Saint Patrick's pictures and posting them to artandlife. They take time, but the time passes quickly. A good sign, if you're thinking of continuing with this picture taking business.
A walk in shirt sleeves to have a grilled cheese sandwich, ice cream and lemonade at the usual place. Best to go somewhat later on a crowded Sunday if you want to find an outside table. A walk then back to the apartment to adjust the lighting on four or five St. Patrick's Day photographs.
For someone who's been using both Lightroom and Photoshop for more than a decade, I make mistakes. Errors. Errors in cropping and more often judgement. Maybe better to slow down and not rip through them first thing, give them more time, time to make more reasoned/seasoned judgements. Not much value in a hot patootie camera if you don't pay attention to the photos that pop out.
A variation on your “we'll do something this afternoon” conceit? We'll buckle down on Lightroom and Photoshop? Tomorrow?
Evening. Time finally on the guitar. Don't want it to get lonely. This spread over three weeks lesson is going reasonably well, I no longer feel as stale as I did when this vacation started, feels nice to hit the notes and the chords just right on occasion.
I watched the French detective wine expert program at six. And seem to have survived. Not bad. Kept my interest. Good for me. Be nice to add it to the two on the weekly want to watch list. Impossible plot, of course, but plots don't seem to much matter in keeping your interest, they all seem odd constructs of the writers’ imagination.
Another “we'll do it tomorrow” kernel hidden there. What do I really think about plot? If I were to sit down and think it through, write it out, think about it instead of just whinging, I suspect I'd come to a much better understanding. One of the reasons people write: clears the head, leads to a better understanding. Another task best put off til tomorrow.
The mind stumbles in circles.
Just after breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.
More time on the photographs, still not happy with the way many of them look. Not their fault, but the fault of the fellow messing with them on the computer. We can fix that.
You keep repeating youself.
I've had two days in a row without any “symptoms”. It tricks the mind into thinking we can just go out and do things again, no longer procrastinate, stop all the whinging. Strange impossible thoughts, but none the less interesting.