Not Turn Out
Monday. The film lab guy at the camera shop's been on vacation these last two weeks and, although I haven't (by my lights) been shooting any pictures, I did manage to drop off three miscellaneous rolls of black and white last week that was to be ready after work this evening. Except I forgot to pick it up. And I'm out of pictures. I've been going through phases where, if I'm not careful, I forget things like this. The biopsy appointment remembered for the right time on the wrong day, well, I understand that, a sliver of what I'm talking about here, but something else altogether, really, when you consider it.
No, I'm guessing this is something that happens with age, the question being, how rapidly does it progress? For now, a couple of changes in behavior, the kinds of things people do all the time, a list taped to a kitchen cabinet, making a mental note (and then remaking it as often as possible so as not to forget) to stand there for a moment as I'm setting out and think what I've missed. The contact sheets today, no big deal, I'll get them tomorrow. The Folic Acid I remembered at the last minute, remembered it at lunch, forgot it during the afternoon, but remembered it again as I was leaving only to say to hell with it, I can pick it up in the morning. So that doesn't count. But why hadn't remembering the Folic Acid tickled a thought about the film? Had I picked the Folic Acid up this afternoon after work I would have remembered the film because I would have to walk past the camera shop.
Oh, well. Could be anything. The rut we've all gotten into at work. The hunkering down shutting the brain down, maybe, not unlike too much sleep. When's the last time I had too much sleep? It's Monday, my mind is drifting, and there are no photographs.
Tuesday. The film wasn't ready yesterday anyway. Too many rolls had come in over the last two weeks to process in one day. So what's the fuss? A whole raft of rumors about the company going through a split up, buy out, buy up, buy down on Reuters. Too many rumors about too many companies, some of whom we wish to buy, some to whom we wish to sell, many of whom change their names and spots and prognostications with the moon, the sun, the traffic light outside our front door, and I, hopeless little rumor junkie I, take it in. Except, maybe it's best to let it go its own way for a while. Everyone is getting crazier. Superficially not, but too many things going on under the skin. Under my skin. Under your skin too, maybe, wherever in the world your skin might be found. I'm drifting again.
I agreed to shoot a wedding next month. Stuck by my rules: take a look at artandlife, that's the kind of picture I'm looking to shoot, I shoot in black and white (with some color), I don't do no fucking posed portraits, nothing but candids, I keep the negatives, you pay for the prints. She says OK (cause I'm incredibly cheap and she can't find anyone else who will do it for anything less than the equivalent of a down payment on a house). Watch this not turn out.
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