Tree and shrub pruning. Perimeter weed defense. Pasture clearance, barn painting. Garage painting. New bathroom. New shop doors. Catch the horses actually playing soccer, and not white-eye terrified by the ball. What remains on my project list will have to wait until next summer. A month later and my knees are still prone to spontaneous knocking and my feet are still numb and wooden from the roof project- not sure what is going on there, probably a pinched nerve somewhere. Numbness is an odd thing to get used to, but at least I’m no longer tripping over my own shoes. I can’t believe I used to do work like this all day every day.
Often it’s enough to just put things on a list. I have no intention of painting the barn, but it’s on the list. Weeding, yard work: yeah, sure. And shrubs are the children we fight over- some sort of surrogation of a forgotten biological imperative. I’m building a case for unconditional slaughter, which may be above my level of commitment, and annoyance. It that the same as indecisiveness?
Getting older but still time expands, and lately moments sort of feel like the cold frothy discharge from a clash of inexperience and experience. (Inexperience isn’t the right word at all, but imperience is too fucking cute). And photos drift noncommittally in these tailings too, I notice not so much a lack of inspiration as a lack of decisiveness. Not only in situ but after- an alarming amount of marginal distinctions are showing up as diptychs and other assemblies. I just can’t seem to get enough periphery, can’t stop chasing what’s just out of the frame, either or structure- or time-wise. At the lake bed last week I couldn’t decide which flat, gray, featureless part of a silt canyon I liked best so I shot the whole goddamned panorama- eight 5×7 negatives long, with a 150mm lens at that. But that is also a list of sorts, I suppose.