I Thirst

     Well, I've decided against afflicting the blogosphere with another self portrait. Day 6 nicotine free. OMG. THTKMA. (This has totally kicked my ass.) I have ventured out to the Atlanta Bread Company as an experiment. I have gone to a couple social things, small group and such with a 'leave whenever you want' attitude. I went to church this morning which was a first...an event with a beginning and an end, which I intended to endure for the duration. Without my crutch. I even had a conversation with Katie at church while she smoked a cigarette.
     The whole thing.
     I felt like my conversational skills were clumsy, and undiplomatic. It was hard to concentrate. I never forgot about her cigarette for even a second. (I remember talking to a titty dancer at a bachelor party...Patrick's.  It was like that. You never forget they're naked, not for a second.)
     I never forgot about Katie's cigarette, but every time I wanted to interrupt and ask her for one (twenty in all, at least.) I just sat there withdrawing, and taking no action. That worked out so well, I felt up to a test, so I have braved the real world, and came to ABC to begin my reentry into the fledgling decade. To reconnect  with a life of direction and purpose, to see what this day day holds for me, in my new freedom.
    

     A couple of weeks ago the world record largemouth bass was caught. The interesting thing to me is not the weights involved, but the locations. The old record holder was caught in south Georgia, within a couple hours of here. So this catches my interest, and surfing around trails.com, I notice a icon near Byron, over by my church. Trails says a neighboring church, Byron Methodist is built next to the largest blackjack oak in the world.
     Yup.
     Well I decide to ride to church early and swing by this tree, to get a shot of the hopefully spectacular sunrise over the largest blackjack oak in the world.
      In the world!
The Pastor, who took a break from his preparations and strolled outside, showed me the spot. There wasn't even a stump.

'Bout a year and a half ago, we had to take it down. It was a sad day. It dwarfed the church. It was dying.

     Dissapointed, I told him to get out of the weather (18 degrees F), walked to the van, and drove to Lifepoint

     This is the SP from a couple days ago. I'm getting jowls. I did not overeat today. Much. I actually, to borrow a phrase from Arod, feel like I could get a pretty good write on...I'm thinking about profanity, what's okay, and what's not, and exactly what the hell is meant by the taking of someone's name in vain. But alas, the voice of wisdom calls from a tub of scalding, sudsy bathwater, saying to read up on the enlightenment before my analysis of Tartuffe. This is good advice. Who said the voices in your head have to be a bad thing? The smoking update: I shall have 72 hours nicotine free at nine in the morning. 72 is the magical number of physical detox, having to do with things like half-life, and metabolic rate, which are not blogworthy at this time. After seventy two  hours the physical addiction is supposedly broken, and it becomes a psychological from that point on. That's not what I feel at the moment, but I won't chase that rabbit. (It's psychological from the beginning.) I have noticed my pants get tighter in the last five days as I have tried to do this...

     Yesterday morning and had a cigarette. You can buy singles illegally from certain ethnically managed convenience stores, and (the going rate is .50 a stick.) I had to hook up. I immediately felt shame and remorse, and smoked the (Newport is the only flavor Mr. Patel does. He offered to do Marlboros once, but I declined. I didn't want to make things too attractive.) fag right down to the taste of filter. I cut the filters back on 'Ports anyway, to get more of the good stuff. Anyway, I now have once again detoxed for 36 or so hours.
     I can definitely say that breaking the 24 hour barrier ushers in a special increase in the suck factor. It's exponential. You could say it was SUCKQUARED. Truly. I am not fit company for humans.  I have made no attempt to encourage interaction, though I did drop by Debbie's for a minute or two at some point earlier. I could tell as soon as I was in an environment with other people, that my inner asshole lurked just beneath the surface.
     I split.
     The Craving is intense, and deep, it is accompanied for me, by feelings of anger, loneliness and hopelessness. They come in waves, usually three at a time lasting about three minutes a piece. I have killed a box of Pop-Tarts, and yearn for more, even though full. Coffee is an old dear friend, but detoxing from nicotine, by some cruel twist of fate effectively halves the ex-smokers caffeine tolerance, so my comfort food is denied me. Hopefully, another nights sleep will take some of this edge off.
     I hope this is it.

     Okay...that is a picture of yours truly... smoking a cigarette 25 something hours ago. He hasn't had one since. He's been here probably 10 times or better. He's a stubborn bastard when it comes to shakin' a bad habit.
     The first 72 hour period is the trial by fire. I have a little program I downloaded. It tells me how long I have been quit, how many cigs I have not  smoked, how much money I have saved, and chronicles the statistical increase in my life span. like this:

Chris - Free and Healing for One Day, 1 Hour and 30 Minutes, while extending my life expectancy 2 Hours, by avoiding the use of 27 nicotine delivery devices that would have cost me $6.38.

     Kinda neat. It helps. This is a terribly lonely endeavor .

     The title is actually a quote from one of the old Dark Tower novels (Stephen King)...Jake spits it at Roland as our hero abandons his friend to fall to his death. Something along the lines of "Go on, then. There are other worlds than these..."
      There are other worlds than these both in a physical sense, and otherwise. IMHO, the spiritual world encompasses our own, this world that activates and stimulates our senses. In some geometry that my feeble math skills cannot analogize, this sphere ( the spiritual one, that is.) surrounds ours in every dimension. This means time, space, beyond the tesseract, even. This view holds no heresy that I know of, to religion or science. The nature or boundaries of this other world(s) are simply speculation, (for me) but as to existence, I have no doubts. Doubts become impossible in the face of memory. I have twice been present at the proper location in time and space to witness when the line of demarcation became blurry and indistinct, between this world and another. Twice I have come across a temporal/ physical point where the fabric of this reality was worn and frayed, like the denim on the knees of incredibly comfortable Levi's. A place  where the warp of reality has been abraded away, and the threadbare weft permits glimpses of  flesh beneath the surface. A place where I perceived stuff I will not post about today.
     Yeah, baby.
     Here be Dragons, demons, and things that go bump.
     The Light of the World is there as well. He is a reality that encompasses all worlds, in every conceivable dimension.
     Believe it.

The 365 pool on flickr is challenging. You are challenged (and not many succeed) to upload 1 self portrait a day, shot on that day. This is yesterdays.... shot at work, post processed in Elements, and Photo-bee. The early light on this jobsite, is interesting... and I am to busy to think, so this is an easier post than any of the theological musing that flit through my awareness, and slip away before I can consider them properly...The idea of taking a self portrait a day for a year arouses very mixed feelings in me. I may explore this in a later post.

Anonymous said...

December 3, 2009 12:06 PM

Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.

(NIV, 1st Corinthians 6:9-11)

Chris, have any thoughts on the "washed" part? I call myself a Christian yet I drink more than my wife thinks I should. Why haven't I been washed of the desire to drink? Greed, I would rather put money in my bank account than give it to a church (don't attend), yet I don't mind sharing with the guy who has the 'will work for food' sign. "...will not inherit the kingdom of God.." does this mean I am going to hell? Didn't Noah dring alot?

     This is a written reprimand against denominations. (my first heresy of the day!) the other stuff is incidental, and I myself will place the words in red before the words of Paul, and I don't believe that ongoing sin causes us to lose favor with God. Ya know, I don't read Greek or Hebrew (I've actually got some curriculum laying around, for when I get caught up...when I got it the first glance was intimidating :D), but your average churchy fella will probably say that this refers to our being "cleansed" of sin. There are lotsa verses people quote. I like "as far as the east is from the west." Quite a few Christians I have talked with teach that God does not even remember our sin (This is total bullshit...as Andy Stanley observes, if this were the case, every sermon that mentioned David nailing Bathsheba would leave God puzzled, and disoriented...divine Alzheimer's.)      Another popular doctrine is that we must ask for forgiveness each time we sin, in spite of the fact that Jesus died for every sin, past present or future. There are a dozen posts just in that concept alone...thanks for the fodder.           God has not removed your desire to drink. I don't know that he ever will. I predict if you continue to drink, the desire will become more entrenched. If we wanna go on a doctrinal acquisition foray through the Gospels, we find an interesting take on what mainstream religianity calls substance abuse.

•       There is a serious party that has run out of the most popular drug of choice for that culture and that time.
• Jesus's  Ma nudges him about this (she must think it's a problem...furthermore, she seems to think he can fix it and his first miracle, according to some, hasn't happened yet)
• Jesus responds with an irritated "so what, Ma...you ain't the boss of me anymore"
• Mary ignores him and tells servants to do whatever he says. ( Have you ever told your Mom you didn't wanna do as she asked, and she just acted like you never spoke? Mary invented this technique. I always forget, as this point in the story, Mary has got to at least  be in her early forties.
• I've been to large weddings. When a large wedding has been drunk dry, their are a few serious buzzes stumbling around.
• In spite of this, Jesus miraculously manufactures between 120 and 180 gallons of wine.
• It's better than anything that has been drank so far that day/evening. (When Jesus makes drugs, he makes 'em good. You would expect no less.)
• This takes us to a spiritual place the average Baptist (or any 'Alcohol Bad!' denominational) cannot bring himself to visit...Jesus has "kept the party going" with over 100 gallons of badass hooch when several people have already got a bellyful. This is recreational drug use.
  

     I get a few unconventional doctrines out of this.

1. Obviously, Alcohol is not a sin.
2. Quite possibly, getting mildly ripped upon occasion is viewed benevolently by God. Let it be so.
3. It's okay to get irritated with your mother. Do what she asks, anyway.

Of course, Alcoholism is real. Will bite your ass. Just ask my ex wife.
     As to greed, IMO greed is not a have/don't have characteristic for most of us. It is a question of how much you got, and what form does it take. If you will give to a homeless guy, you must have a nugget of compassion, or guilt, or something buried in that little heart of yours. :)
    We know Noah got shitfaced at least once, we don't know if Noah drank a lot. I feel safe in assuming he didn't drink enough to be a fuckup.We all have a point where enough alcohol or any recreational drug for that matter, begins to degrade the quality of our life. I assure you that if we have begun to notice it, significant damage has already been done. There are places where "Hell" refers to the Jerusalem town dump, in the red ink, no less. There are references to the "Lake of Fire". Neither is a good spot to aim for, I would imagine. There is no place I know of where Jesus said "This is how to stay out of Hell"
     Religianity will detail things you must do to obtain what they call "The Free Gift Of Grace", which seems a contradiction to me, but I am a heretic. They will list ways you must feel, motives you must have, and even a chant you must utter, as in "repeat after me, to get saved".
     I don't think they quite grasp the reality of unmerited favor. I don't think you are going to hell.

     
Anonymous,
     I would like to mention a couple things.
     More than once, your comments have been sad. You drink. I don't know how much you drink, but drinking and sadness can precipitate a helluva nasty spiral and you know this, though it is easy to forget. If your wife has a problem, You have a problem. Period. Love comes with complications. Also, I've never met a wife who thought her husband drank too much....who was wrong about it. Your wife is afraid. Do something. These things don't go away and they will contribute to your sadness. And we know what sadness will contribute to, in a man who likes to catch a buzz. Be very careful.
    

The will to do the right thing, regardless of personal cost. This is the definition of Character given by Andy Stanley in his book, Louder Than Words. Being a Pastor, he adds, "as defined by God."

Character is the will to do what is right as defined by God, regardless of personal cost.

     -Andy Stanley
 
And then there is:

 You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.

My photography, that is. I like it, but it is overedited by conventional standards. (Actually, maybe my writing is weird, as well. My url is not a hard one...a couple family member expressed some curiosity, but I have never gotten any feedback.) So. Back to the weird photography. Nobody wants you to take weird pictures of their kids, spouse, or wedding. ( some of my friends are weird, :D And I've shot their kids lol... that'll turn up in a google search.).Excellence is a plus, distinctive style doesn't hurt even, but generally, no weirdness in a paid portrait photographer.
Yeah.
Paid.
I've become aware that portrait photography pays a little better than painting and carpentry (not always, but often) and the equipment is not as heavy. In view of this, and the fact that I always get enormous enjoyment whenever I shoot an event for Theophilus Ministries, I thought I might brush up on my 'normal' skills.


LARGER
Eh? Normal?

Or this one.


Larger

I grabbed these going through the drive-thru at Checkers, and did not attempt to shoot HDR brackets. I just tried to shoot what I saw. It was fun. Now I just need someone who can't afford a wedding photographer (Like my younger self), for a little practice.

I was also desperate to post...

Jim called me last night for a ride. After posting about the cigarette thing, I talked to my IRL buddy, Scott. I also played around between my ears, thinking a little harder about Jim than I have been. I am almost positive he lies a little, and he has a couple of behavioral thingies that stand out. I have some questions about the disability/ physical address issue, and a lot of details in general are sorta foggy. I plan to start paying more strict attention (I mentioned Jim to a guy in my small group about a month ago, but my attendance is spotty when class is in session, and nothing has come of it). Over a few more run-ins, I may develop a little more clarity, about Jim’s life.

So, I drive out to meet Jim, and it’s dark. There is about a half a mile stretch of bad neighborhood that is one of three likely parts of town for Jim to request a rendezvous.

The last time I was here I had the chance to (there’s a whole post in here, but jeez, I’m wore out!) buy some crack. I think it was the eye contact (note to self… don’t be eyeballin’ the crack man!). I meant to speak to Jim about some other options. Evidently I dropped the ball. Jim is nowhere in sight. Damn. I turn around, and make another pass. I’m getting a little grumpy…don’t forget, I’ve been on steroids for a week and I don’t have my glasses.

OK, I wanna mention a few things:

1. At this time, I am in a painter’s van, no question. I got paint-spattered ladders strapped to it, big “SPRAY TECH” sticker on the rear window.
2. Umm…of all the construction trades, with the possible exception of roofers, none is better represented in the general crack-smoking population than painters. FYI most guys don’t get into house painting because they were a smashing success somewhere else.
3. Appearances matter, at 10 pm as you fly through the local crackport waggling your wings for the third consecutive pass.

I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance to buy some crack, this time. I was plenty stressed when I finally spotted Jim through the gloom. I swung in, he threw his bike in the van, and we split. I was still riding the warm fuzzy feeling from Jim’s earlier generosity and I had gotten paid for a small job. I wanted to hook him up, so we Taco Belled and got some smokes, and I gave him a little cash. When I let him out, I may have still been a little agitated. I was agonizing about the whole shower thing and suddenly rediscovered my testicles. I decided to offer him a shower.

He told me he was nervous, no thank you

It was uncomfortable. He probably thinks I’m a homelessguyophile (that's sorta funny, to me...but I'm strange). I have decided regardless, to have greater intentionality trying to impact this guy’s life in a good way.

Oh, and I told him I blogged about him…that was bothering me.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Homeless Jim bought me a pack of Cadillacs today. Caddies, refer to premium cigarettes... Newports, Camels, Marlboros and the like. He pitied me in my affluence. My financial circumstances are stressful by my standards, though Jim probably wouldn’t agree. He smelled bad. He called a little squatting spot a place of his own for a week or two, but somehow he lost it. Jim tells me that social security requires a physical address to send a check. A P.O. box is unacceptable. I think Jim’s progress at obtaining disability income runs into a stone wall, here. This hurdle confounds him. Jim needs a lump sum of 300-400 dollars to get his foot in the door and rent some slum property, but he has no slum to send the check to. Hmmm. Direct deposit comes to mind….
I first met Jim last summer, and he has survived the winter. He truly lives Hand to Mouth. I should mention that Jim is dying, I think. The Hole in his face was my first clue. The cancer distorts the whole side of his head, giving it a caved in appearance. One eye twists askew, peering downward and to the outside, oozing pus perpetually. It’s not pretty, and coupled with the smell, it really cuts down on Jim’s attractiveness as an employee. He employs himself, tackling odd jobs, and sometimes gets ripped off. I’m afraid to let Jim know where I live, and this shames me, a little.

Of course Jim panhandles, which I find strange. Here in Warner Robins, my roots go back over thirty years. Growing up as an Air Force Brat on the Base, I never saw panhandling, and I’m pretty sure I never saw it in town. Twenty years ago I saw panhandlers in Little Five Points, when I ran away to Atlanta after flunking out of college. So, I am not shocked (much), but this takes place 5 blocks from my House. Going out for a stroll can bring me across the trail of a homeless guy before I finish a small Hemmingway. It’s kind of new to me.
Anyway, I am favorable disposed toward panhandlers. God is good, and today a home of my own awaits my evening return, but this was not always the case. I remember leaner times, and usually will contribute a buck or two for the Cause when approached. The first night I met Jim I got an inner nudge, a wordless articulation of compassion for this stranger.
I have this little light inside me, you see. It swirls and it twirls. It flits about, focusing on one thing or another. Sometimes it locks in on something like a pit bull, and explodes with brilliance. It terrified me this night. I think it wanted me to take Jim to my house and let him shower, wash his clothes. Spend the night. Have ten hours as a normal American.

Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what it wanted. Instead, I emptied my change into his hands. I had probably broken a hundred for some gasoline, and a carton of smokes. Some Marlboros.

Cadillacs.

Jim probably cleared 15 bucks, plus my last open pack of cigarettes, and a brand new pack from the fresh carton. Oh, Glory. I lavished these gifts casually with a secret shame at my fear, but this windfall made Jim cry. We both went on our way, after a few words on…theology, and economics. I had a hard time thinking of Jim for a day or two, but I got over it. It seems I can do that for a little while.

So Jim and I have engaged in this dance. I am suspicious and freaked out, and I try to catch him in a lie. He is destitute for the most part, and tries to catch me with a few bucks in my pocket. Jim succeeds more often than I do. He has my phone number, and sometimes calls and asks for a ride, or a little money (I have called my buddy Scott and kept him on the phone while dropping money off to Jim… just in case he cut my throat, or popped a cap in my ass.) The hole in his face has to be stopped up with a paste in order for him to swallow properly, and he can’t enjoy anything like coffee or ice cream. Everything must be lukewarm. I guess it’s very painful otherwise.
I will cough up nine bucks and change for his paste prescription or other medication and occasionally get him something to eat. I will also speak to Jim with irritation, if he calls when studies press upon me, or my wallet is empty. The little light inside me can be eclipsed…by a selfish prick, it seems... but I digress.

Today, Jim and I made eye contact across Watson Boulevard. I made a left, waved and then saw Jim turn in my direction. Damn. Looking in the rearview, I became worried that Jim might be able to triangulate my neighborhood location if I continued, so I made a U- turn and waited. I have no money. My financial aid is a month late, I missed my house payment, the water will be shut off Thursday, and my power on the 14th. I’m holding, though. I got one cigarette, my last one.

You would have to be a lifelong smoker to completely understand. As addictions go, smoking is unique. Cigarettes are legal, and the addictive behavior happens in public, it’s easy to forget the strength it has over you. Until you’re broke. (Imagine trying to kick a cocaine habit if you saw crack every time you stopped for a cup of coffee, or walked by a public building, or picked your kids up from school.) I had been starving the monkey on my back for two days. At this point the occasional cigarette I came across simply whetted my appetite; I existed in a state of constant deprivation, and an underlying feeling of piss-off from the steroids they put me on Saturday.
Jim asked me for a cigarette. I declined, and it hurt. I got frustrated. I was embarrassed. I had never denied Jim a cigarette, so he knew something was up. He reluctantly asked for a ride, I agreed, and we headed up town. Jim listened to me bitch, and took the other half of the cigarette. When we arrived at Jim’s destination, his job had been given to a nephew. Too bad, so sad.

We rode back down Watson Boulevard and Jim directed me into a parking lot. He produced a handful of singles, went inside the store, and bought cigarettes. He bought himself some cheap, shitty cigarettes, and he bought me what I smoke. They cost nearly twice as much. He bought me some Caddies.

He bought me some Marlboros.

Jim is homeless. He and I live in totally different economies. Four dollars and eighty-five cents, for me is merely a more pleasant evening, with my legal drug. I can write my paper, study my psychology, be warm and civil to people I bump up against. I’ll spend the whole night without losing my temper. For Jim, four dollars and eighty-five cents is 6 Checker Burgers on Sunday special. Jim gave up a day of eatin’, and I’m afraid to let him come take a shower....




...

I'm beginning to suspect my Girlfriend has a better eye, steadier hands, and more of that mysterious photographer thing, than I do.
But it's still MY camera :).



I had a "snap out of it" experience after a few weeks of being really overwhelmed with domestic catchup, and a dwindling bank account. The school year was approaching, and my ability to generate income is cut by 80% when class is in session. I was stressing exponentially, and this was aggravated by nicotine withdrawal.
The clincher was returning from a camping trip to find a a hundred + pounds of rotten meat in my freezer. Shit. That costs money.(Did you know "Shit" was in the Bible? I told my ex-wife's daughter one time not exclaim "Jesus Christ" but rather to exclaim "Shit", because if Saint Paul can say it, we all can. There was stunned silence and long eye contact as she searched my face for evidence I was... Shitting her. LOL. Now, this didn't bring about a drastic change in her vocabulary, but she started to read her Bible...)
Oops. There went my attention span.
Anyway, I recruited Debbie's grandson, and we hauled my garbage can to the place where all the trucks go... which was a big hit, BTW.
I had to do this. The inexperienced victim would be amazed at how much of their neighborhood is blanketed with the stench of corruption when a hundred pounds of rotting flesh is pushed out to the curb. If I left it there, one of little old ladies that surround me was gonna commit arson. Small girls waiting for the bus would vomit. I had to do something, and I was afraid to go alone. My right hand man Colin, made it clear that he was there for me. I didn't have to deal with this by myself. He was impressed with the effluvia permeating my property. In all of his four-and- a half years, He'd never come across anything like this, and he is an accomplished adventurer.
He always loves to help me "Do a JOB!, Chris" , so we rose to the occasion and handled it like the virile, standard-setting pictures of masculinity that we are, hooking up the trailer and hauling our cargo down to Transwaste where it belonged. Watching my role-model break the heart of the receptionist was so uplifting, I was reluctant to leave his company, and afterward asked if he could help me cut grandma's grass. The answer a man like Colin gives to such a request goes without saying, and after a day of such hard work, we needed to play just as hard to blow off our steam. Drinking was out of the question. Colin is a Man's Man in all other ways, but he simply can't hold his espresso, and I fear the wrath of Grandma. What to do? Colin and I are like barely domesticated wolves, breathtakingly handsome and friendly, but wild at heart and dangerous. Unable to come up with a better idea, we got in the van and began to wander in a southeasterly direction, with the merciless Georgia sun setting behind us, not knowing what we sought.
Great minds think alike, and we both saw the fire station at the same time...OH, YEAH! As soon as we approached, those boys recognized our kindred spirits. They could sense our deep respect for the legendary bravery of their fellowship, and the hospitality they showed to two dirty, smelly, vagabond princes is a permanent notch in the belt of honor shared by emergency responders all over the world.
Fireman Mike rolled out the red carpet, showed us all their stuff,

and even went so far as to induct Colin into the ranks of his brave brothers and sisters, presenting him with the prized talisman, a Red Helmet! (I felt a twinge of envy). Probably nothing was gonna top this, at least this evening, so we said our goodbyes, and returned to our home territory. I dropped Colin off and limped home, nursing an arthritic hip, eager to upload my pictures before bed.

I love espresso! A gift from God to illustrate the principle of quality, not quantity. Unlike the Morning Pot of Coffee, espresso does not really lend it self to pre-programming or the the hectic life. The Real Deal is a slow process of preparing your device (old-fashioned, heat driven, baby!) and then waiting.

John Ortberg talks about "ruthlessly eliminating hurry from your life" (The Life You've Always Wanted, I think).

Wait on your espresso.

“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10)

This girl looks like she's strugglin' (probably every bee you've ever seen was female). Her job, day in and day out for one to four months of life span, is to fly to and then clamber over, landscapes of incredible beauty, and to then fill her leg baskets with "another load of pollen!". (There is no real struggle here...it's all in the camera, a posture frozen in time-insects can lift many times their body weight, casually...one of those strange aspects of physics that are over my head.)
I wonder, is it possible that as worker bees, we no longer see the flowers? Scott Peck tells us that " life is difficult" (or something like that...) and we nod in agreement, thinking that life is difficult.(that's not the royal "we", it's the trailer park "we". Perhaps it doesn't apply to my readers- both of you.)
When I begin to take the flowers for granted, I forget that I'm a member of a minority. As part of this exclusive group (80% of humanity lives on less than 10 bucks a day), I have a roof over my head... hell if I want, I have a roof over my car. I am so affluent that I can spew drinking water outside on my grass, and pay to feed animals who do no work. I am acquiring a college education in spite of youthful irresponsibility, and poor choices, and I get to walk around in the mountains a couple of times a year. My difficult life is littered with flowers. I even get to blog a little, when school is out.

Well, it's been a while since I posted a picure I took. My perspective and sense of accomplishment changes, and the first insect macros that thrilled me so much, didn't seem all that great after surfing through some of the content on the web, especially some of the amatuer photos uploaded on flickr. This recent shot, taken a few days at the campus pond, I am really pleased with. :)
she looks great on black

I am so glad this week is over. I felt a constant strain, a pressure to do and speak in a way that would honor my father. In the midst of it, as divorce came over the horizon, the situation with my wife was so confusing, her compassion, and the knowledge that the love one rightfully expects from a spouse was absent, were a source of an explosive cocktail of emotion. I was never comfortable enough to concentrate on my grief. Understanding, rage, disappointment, and bitterness were exhausting me, even now I would do almost anything to be free of them, if only for a little while. Every time she tells me to let her know if I need anything it breaks my heart.