As I’ve been backing up my online photo archives, I’ve been stumbling upon many images that deserve longer lingering than I can offer right here and right now. This week I’ve been doing and thinking of too many different things. The result has been the least sleep I’ve gotten in a while. The photos pull me into moments from the past yet in the present I am torn over where to focus my efforts.
It’s like I’ve fallen into an alternate reality that’s akin to grocery shopping with a bare list that I’ve forgotten to fish out of my pocket until I get home and find that I have nothing to show for the trip but junk food, pop, three pounds of meat and taco fixings (which, unfortunately, happens to be exactly what I bought at the store today). Should I focus more on photography or blogging? Should I start a new blog on my spirituality or continue to incorporate that content here? Are these hobbies worth my time or do they just put distance between me and more immediate concerns, like my family and my job?
I used to live in this scattered mental state all the time. I’ve stress myself out to the point I felt unable to start any of the dozen things I’d thought of doing that day, and then I’d stay up late into the night. Then I’d try to calm myself by listening to loud music on headphones and chain smoking until the birds would start singing outside.
I think the photo archive project collided with PMS to revive a mood I’d rather never returned. That’s one of the unpleasant surprises of perimenopause. Every cycle has the potential for dark variants of PMS. Maybe next month I’ll have a more benign cycle and just become briefly preoccupied with learning more about the rise and fall of avocado-colored appliances.
Anyway, the above picture hails from a more pleasant day, an afternoon in June of 2008 when I met up with my now-husband for a photo walk at a local park. I used a Fuji Finepix S5700 back then. It was a point-and-shoot camera but a real workhouse. I wish I still had it. I think I dropped it and broke the display screen not long after that day.
When I think of that hot June day and the newness of my relationship with my husband, the song “Wild Honey” by U2 comes to mind. From the beginning, he seemed to be someone I’d known for a very long time. On that day in the park, I mentioned for the first time where my family lived during the 80s, and he said to me, “You lived there for a long time, didn’t you?”
I hadn’t yet mentioned to him how long we lived there.