We’re doing this a little differently tonight.
I decided that I don’t spend enough time in my living room. I’m always at the computer in the corner of the bedroom. It’s my crawlspace, my cozy nook, thanks to the darkness and a decent set of speakers. Then I go to sleep on the couch in the living room.
But I used to spend nights writing in this living room. Usually on the ground with my back to a patch of wall between the window (open, of course) and the back door. Or with a mug of tea at the dining table. Nights full of warmth, and emotion, and clarity. I miss that. Back when I could still write about love. Back when I had love to write about.
But I’m here now in my blankets with my laptop. On the TV is The Brown Bunny in all it’s grainy old-school glory, and Vincent Gallo, that sexy motherfucker. I wish I could be as cocky. The second time through the movie you realize that all the girls are named after flowers.
Sunday night feels like it’s been alternating between snow and rain all weekend. As per tradition, I’m seeing how long I can go without turning on the furnace before it gets too cold. I’ve never minded the chill; it only makes blankets and hoodies all the more comfortable. My cat tends to be a lot more cuddlier too, and aggressive even, in where she plants herself next to me.
I’ve been waiting for the snow to come. Even with the hassle and the mess and the biting cold, it’s still worth it to wake up to a white world.
I’ve been drawn to photography again. With video, an important moment can be easily lost, but with photography the viewer has no choice but to confront the single frame presented to them. There’s also something about a lack of context. A photograph is more conducive to letting an audience wonder what has happened to lead up to the image, and what happened after.
The problem is that I don’t have anything to photograph anymore. I feel so uninspired. I never go out. Sometimes I wonder if I’m getting more and more anti-social. I work from home for four days a week now. Every time I think I should pick up the phone and call someone to catch up, I never do.
I’m starting to feel less and less guilty about it. I can’t tell if I’m getting comfortable, or just lazy.