Another one guys. I’m not as sure about how I feel about this picture just yet. It seemed to easy to get where I was going and in my experience, that usually means I’m doing something wrong, right? My DH is no help really because he says things like, “That one looks like it might be real” which is a good thing, but he doesn’t get all bouncy and excited over them either so its hard to tell whether I’m conveying the story that I hear in my head or not.
The man in this picture was connected to my mother’s side of the family in some way or another- not sure how because I don’t have anyone to ask just at the moment. The picture came from one of the many family photo albums that I’ve been scanning over the last week. Did I mention that? No probably not. Well thats what I’ve been doing. Its painstaking work at best and a pain in the neck (and back) at worst because our kitchen chairs just aren’t designed with hours of sitting in mind. Many of the pictures are stuck in those magic magnetic photo albums that used to be all the rage and I’m having a heck of a time getting them scanned. The worst part tho is the ones that fall right out of the album the moment I open it up and won’t stay on any page at all because all the magic is gone.
In other news, I’ve been crashed on the couch all day today with whatever he had the last two days. I am getting so stinkin sick and tired of being…. well sick and tired. The last year or so has been pretty miserable and especially with this homeopathic rememdy working its way through my system I get to be sick rather more often then not. Bleck!!! But it doesn’t stop me from feeling creative, just limits what I have energy for and its still ten times better than before the treatment. For those not in the know, its IBS and really not that big a deal, but it can turn me into a pretty sorry spectacle in a hurry.
Its funny, but I realized the other day that I passed my 200th post mark without even noticing it. I got all tied up with one thing or another and lo and behold I was sitting at 202. Strange to think that when I started this almost a year ago I was certain that I’d be posting every day if not more than once a day and now I’m lucky to get in once a week. Stranger still to know that since I started this thing my mind has become much more observant even if my observations seldom actually make it onto the printed page so to speak. Now my mind is filled with an inner voice that narrates my life not unlike the voice in JD’s head on the show Scrubs. (if you don’t know scrubs, you’re on your own cuz I’m too lazy to link) Even as I type this my mind is rambling about various subjects and I’m trying hard to keep up and on task. Why then, you ask, is it so hard for me to post more often? Well its simply this- either 1) the post in my mind is deemed to menial and boring for blog fodder or 2) My mind comes into the ‘on’ position right before I go to sleep compiling all the day’s entries into some semblance of order but I wait till the next morning at which point there are only fragments of the previous compilation. Maybe if I had a good computer tech to defrag my mind I could get a bit more written, but eh… Then too there is the fact that blogging is sort of a “if you write it they will read” thing but aside from the occasional potentially lurid posts my blog draws only a small crowd of wonderfully loyal readers (and you know who you all are even if I don’t always know) and some days its hard to get myself to write something because the cynical self-esteem lacking individual hiding in my brain says “Pssshhh! Why bother! The ones you deem important are ignored and the mundane is what gets noticed.” No thats not true, but I think most people who blog will agree that they do it so that they can carry on imaginary conversations with someone other than theirselves, right?
Its like when I was talking to my husband earlier and he was staring blankly at the episode of Andy Griffith on the tv. I asked him a simple semi-rhetorical question just so that I could have some actual verbal interaction and he continued to remain transfixed til I said his name. He knew what I had been saying- could repeat it almost verbatim in fact- but had not felt the need to respond (this is fairly common as he is kind of a quiet guy) I then pointed out that I sometimes felt like I was talking to a wall when he didn’t respond to my questions but rather remained quiet through entire conversations. I reminded him that since I am alone almost all day most days, I could talk to walls whenever I (or they) feel like it, but having someone actually respond is a bit more of a privilege. *grins* He had to laugh when I pointed that out but it made me think about this blog too. I want all of you who comment to know I’m very grateful for your thoughts. They mean the difference between walls that can be a bit snooty at times and wonderful warm human interaction.