This Old Geezer
Well, things seem just fine. I've had a tuna fish sandwich and a pint and a half of Corona Extra, La Cerveza Mas Fina, and I am sitting here listening to the news on public radio. Mr. Arafat has died, Mr. Gonzales has been nominated for Attorney General and the wrap up of Fallujah seems to be rolling toward a conclusion. I did not attend my photography class yesterday evening, nor was I at my photography class on Monday because I had not finished either of my assignments. This may mean my picture taking education is over. Time, energy and ambition. Sometimes I have one, sometimes I have another, very few times do I have all three together. Still, I know the coming assignments, both for the beginning class and the more advanced photographing people class, and I will complete them, but, unfortunately, in my own slagger's significantly slower stagger.
That's an abysmal combination. Are you depressed?
No. Both classes have been valuable. I made the mistake of taking two at the same time, though, during a period when I'd committed to photographing a wedding and an event for a local charity for reasons understandable but stupid. And that Nikon class last Sunday. A great class, but what was I thinking? Then the office started acting up. And..., well, you get the drift: dim bulb excuses one after another.
Thursday. A long day today that started early and crazily. There are things that I must do in a very short time and it's affected the journal (less time and fewer entries), the photography (not enough time to shoot and prepare for the classes) and my ability to follow through on my promises (I owe people pictures). All this excitement as we're approaching the holidays!
Settle down, my man. You're sounding flaky.
I'm acting flaky. I'd say not a good sign if I weren't looking forward to the weekend and shooting some pictures. Or is that too much, this ongoing litany about shooting pictures set against a background of issues as serious as peace and war and the national election? Too puerile for an old geezer who's supposed to know better? I suspect nothing is too puerile for this old geezer (who's never known better).