Think About It
A hot, humid day. Well, let's be more accurate. A hot humid day for a day in October for moi. Moi has learned he does not have the intestinal fortitude of the more heat resistant majority, that his polished opinions are not always accepted as coin of the realm and that Oakland, dear Oakland, is not coupled in the record books with, say, Death Valley or New York City. Still, it was in fact a reasonably hot and humid day and I was appreciative of the office air conditioning, glad enough now for the fan that blows air in through my sliding glass windows.
Those are doors, sliding glass doors, that open out onto your postage stamp balcony.
My overly warm and humid postage stamp balcony.
Another two weeks will mark my sixth anniversary with the journal. I'm not certain it needs to see a seventh, although I believe I've said pretty much the same thing with every passing year. I've described it as a practice space demanding a certain daily amount of writing and photography. They say practice makes perfect, but practice should eventually stumble forward into something, another chapter, should it not? But what? MSW has suggested I'm long overdue to get off my duff and, well, do something. I sometimes suspect MSW of having a kind of elliptical conversation, suggestions reflected in her own psyche, but either way she's right. Still, what to do with photographs and words? Pretty much anything, I guess, when you think about it.
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