Yearly Archives: 2003

After The Power Outage, And A Broken Camera

I stepped off the bus this morn­ing, and the sun was low in the sky. The wind blew cool and fresh on my face, a wel­come change from the mug­gy atmos­phere fur­ther south. Exhausted as I was from my trav­el­ing, the weath­er refreshed me, and it all felt like hap­pi­ness.

The food in my freez­er seems to be alright, even after the pow­er out­age. That saves me from hav­ing to get deliv­ery the next time I go gro­cery shop­ping. I was pret­ty wor­ried at first, since Nick helped me stock up on food the last time he came over.

My Fujifilm MX-1700 has stopped work­ing. The lens cov­er is stuck in the open posi­tion, and the lens refus­es to extend. I’ve nev­er had a prob­lem with a cam­era, so I don’t know what to do about the sit­u­a­tion. The MX-1700 has served me well, ever since I got it three years ago. It does every­thing I need it to, and since I only take pic­tures for web based things, I don’t need a res­o­lu­tion above 1280x1024. I might con­sid­er get­ting anoth­er one, depend­ing on how much this one will cost to fix, and the options avail­able on the dig­i­tal cam­era mar­ket right now.

The Magic Of Phone Cards

There’s a sort of mag­ic to using phone cards. Every card pur­chased is a new key, and every brand tried is a dif­fer­ent voice and card-stiff­ness. With all the hid­den fees and secret costs, it always makes me won­der what is in store as I scratch away the metal­lic blind. Some stores only sell the “phone receipt” now, a piece of paper print­ed on the date of pur­chase, com­plete with num­bers and key, because peo­ple sell­ing the phone cards to stores are being robbed of their card-filled brief­cas­es. The receipt works the same way as a card, but lacks the tan­gi­ble feel of a sol­id card. Calling some­one should always be this fun.

One Day To The Next

I feel burned out.

A show­er makes every­thing go away. I for­get every­thing I’ve learned and gath­er my thoughts.

It’s rare that I live my life with­out form or struc­ture, but the cur­rent week has been just that. Sleeping, eat­ing, and sleep­ing some more when­ev­er I feel like it has made the days jum­bled and indis­tin­guish­able. I don’t think I could live like this for long; I’ve always need­ed some sort of struc­ture in my life. I need to know what time my din­ner is at. I need to know when to wake up. I guess I’ve become a crea­ture of habit, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing yet.

It Was The Gentle Waves

Access to my con­trol pan­el, my data­base, and my scripts has been tem­porar­i­ly dis­abled. Apparently, a rep­re­sen­ta­tive of a musi­cal group has con­tact­ed my host in regards to an mp3 I have stored. Instead of con­tact­ing me first, the rep­re­sen­ta­tive decid­ed to bring the issue up with my host. I would have been fine with remov­ing the mp3 from my site if I was sim­ply asked. I real­ized that it was a vio­la­tion of my terms of ser­vice, but I did­n’t think that any­one ever vis­it­ed this site, so I had the song for archival pur­pos­es. Now, I have no way of updat­ing my con­tent, in what has become my main heal­ing medi­um. I can­not be slowed by this, and even though it feels as though I have no means of expres­sion or com­mu­ni­ca­tion, I still feel the need to write.