I wonder if I even know how to write anymore.
Well, the previous sentence answers some portion of that question: my fingers still work. I was having a rough time of things, but now, except for some extensively unanswered questions, I feel quite good. I just don’t have anything to say, and I haven’t really cared about anything enough to form opinions beyond my reflexive standbys. For a while, that was a generalized apathy, but now I hope that it is more of a zenlike detachment; whichever, it’s not as if I feel like pontificating, you lucky thing.
One area in which I have caused movement is that I bought a really nice camera that I couldn’t afford because I wanted to see the world in a different way. I took some good photos of people when they didn’t know I was doing so, and I have shots of one or two random flowers. One of the flowers has a bee in it, but it was not a particularly photogenic bee. My designer’s eye allows me to compose things, but I barely know how to operate the bells and whistles of the bloody camera so you wouldn’t necessarily know this from my work to date.
As for the rest of my life, I realized today that I’m waiting for something to happen. Not a specific something; it’s just that certain situations either need to sort themselves out or, if they’ve already sorted themselves out behind my back, they need to send up some smoke signals so I know what’s going on. I don’t think I’m in the waiting mood, however. I am taking steps. I am making decisions. If any of those decisions make things worse, well, at least I can boast that I avoided stagnation.