At My Toes
Wednesday. More time than I want to admit spent on watching another episode of Longmire on the tablet last night (is it settling in a bit now after its off the wall start?) before going to sleep, up thirty minutes after the alarm to head out to breakfast feeling OK, no complaints, but I seem to allow my wide eyed, wide awake bed time state to lead me into dysfunctional asides. Anything on Netflix qualifies, at least in my case, as a dysfunctional aside.
Anyway, a sunny morning, going to be a nice (fire prone and dangerous, what with the drought and all) day, a truck waiting to enter the apartment house construction site while another was being loaded as I passed them on the way home. So we'll go down the street and take a couple of pictures later. As we did yesterday (and have done like a metronome for these past five months).
Maybe invest more thought into the photographs, see if you can't make them more interesting, closer to what you've been calling your particular style of photo taking?
I may have to break down and do that. People in the pictures. I suspect I need more eyes and faces.
Later. A walk down the street to look at the construction site and take a couple of pictures. They're digging a series of deep pits on the opposite side of the lot in preparation, I assume, for more cement. There were three groups of workers, each of them working at different tasks to make this happen. No thought to go over to the lake with a medium zoom lens on the camera and so back to the apartment.
To make an attempt at a nap. Tired, the head tired, yes, but not “foggy” (if that makes sense). Drifted, but never quite far enough to get to sleep and so up to take another walk down by the construction site, this time with a long lens on the camera so I could then go over to the lake after and see if there were birds to be found.
A looping walk along the lake and then back along the sidewalk looking for the goslings among the many geese who were sitting and idly feeding in the shade under the scattered trees, finding them finally on that last leg quite near the sidewalk. And so some pictures, none of which but one really turned out quite right. Not the camera or the lens, but the photographer. He wasn't paying attention.
This after saying you were going to “invest more thought into the photographs” just this morning?
I was wondering about that. The framing could have been better, I should have stopped the lens down farther and paid more attention to the focus point and where it was positioned. Just spacey maybe, but so spacey I wasn't even aware I was being careless until I got back to the apartment and looked at the pictures on the computer. Ah, well.
Later. Another shot at a nap before heading out again with a shorter lens on the camera, a walk along the lake finding the goslings down near the shore this time and then on to think of a place for lunch. Hungry, really hungry, but feeling great antipathy to anything that came to mind. Where to go, what to eat?
And you of course ended up at the morning café.
And I ended up at the morning café for a pastry and a lemonade. Go figure. I did walk on afterward to the supermarket where I bought sake, cheese and crackers, the very somethings that have brought on ocular migraines in the past. Just feeling pugnacious. A slow day, maybe we can slip into a nice sake smoothed evening and see if it still retains the ocular result. Test the soundness of our recovery. He said, almost as if he were a serious person, sagacious in his older age.
Back now nibbling on the cheese and crackers. We'll get into the sake soon enough, the evening will go either very slowly or very quickly. Either way we'll know before long.
Evening. The only thing I can say for the evening is that by watching subtitled foreign movies/shows/soaps it pretty much forces me to play along on the guitar as I have to be sitting in front of the screen to read the subtitles and can't make do by sitting over at the computer and listening to the story evolve in the background.
Which means I managed to stay up and watch Maigret last night at nine, an episode I've seen before (they must get a good price of this stuff and rerun the hell out of them for as long as they can) to then get to bed and watch another episode of Longmire, getting to sleep well after eleven.
The three glasses of sake might have contributed to this madness. One can only hope. No sign of ocular monkey business, no sign of anything other than a certain feeling of mellowness well known to us all, so I guess no complaints. If I'm shooting myself in the foot with all this, well, I'm the one who's loading the gun and aiming it at my toes.