Embarrassingly Stupid
We drove over to one of our, um, "customer service entrances" this morning and I shot photographs we may use in a CBT our company is developing. A quick dash across town between eight and nine, the weather overcast and cool, the streets relatively empty, back so quickly I might have as easily stepped down the hall to the restroom in the same amount of time. Dropped the film off at the camera shop when I got back, the slides will be ready Monday. Back to the building's computers (hack - hack - swack), four cookies for lunch (we were hurried and short handed - we're always short handed) all more opportunities to polish and pamper my poor disposition. I'm such a joy. So it's Friday, my friends, and another "life is hectic" soliloquy is written.
I have no idea what I will do over the weekend. Drive somewhere and shoot pictures, I guess,  put an additional page together for the photography site, a first Dykes on Bikes - Gay Pride Parade page would boost traffic, a lure for folks who don't believe they have no Dykes on Bikes toodling along on their local highway. I promised myself a page a week and a bunch of pages when I take a vacation at the end of next month. The minute I write these things I wonder how much of it is words of encouragement for a task I have no intention of attempting and how much is real. Both, I think. I've mentioned the site to a couple of people I suspect for similar reasons, to build my need to get a move on.
I (again) notice the number of photographs I take of women versus the number of photographs I take of men. A woman coworker commented on this when I showed her my lone Carnaval page and I responded, "well, what the hell?" She laughed. No reason to apologize, you understand, as good a place as any to put pent up energy. Writers and photographers shouldn't be too picky, not so much their motivations be found, but their secret, once discovered, may prove embarrassingly stupid.
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