BLAH!

I haven't been blooging much because I feel really grumbly and curmudgeonly. Like, I'm a mess. I don't know exactly why - I mean, I feel just so dumpy and shitty. This weekend I have two family reunions to go to. Part of me wants to go and see my cousins and family I never see, and part of me doesn't want to go because I will have to see my cousins and family I never see. ;) I also have to bring a dish to pass and I'm feeling uninspired. Maybe I will make something weird and 'fancy' and freak them all out.
I do miss my sister. She better not bail.

I wish I could just turn back time to 20 years ago for even an hour. I just wish I could feel okay again for even that long. This whole life is so foreign to me - there is no comfort to be found. There's no one to make it all better.

I know I'm a grownup - and it's my responsibility to make everything better. I need to go to the doctor and let them do a fucking physical. I am saying this in a crazy desperate and weird kinda way - I DONT WANT TO SO MUCH - but I've been playing the avoidance, do what I want, fuck it all game for too long. I need to be a grown up. I need to spread my legs and let her probe me. *sigh*

But I'm scared of what she could say - and I'm scared of diagnostic tests, and I'm scared of treatments. I'm scared of the lecture about losing weight. I'm scared of everything.

Why is life taking this turn? All of a sudden I seem unable to handle simple things. The thought of cleaning the house right now makes me want to huddle in a ball and cry. I don't feel empowered. I don't feel capable. I care, but in this distant and out of control kind of way.

Even right now my thought proccesses are going like this. " do some work ~ I can't.. I don't want to ~ im sad ~ you have to work anyway ~ get your work done ~ no.. must surf or chat or something ~ do your work ~ i don't want to ~ do it anyway ~ no.. i'm sad ~ DO IT ANYWAY! ~ okay i will do one ad, after i blog ~ fine.. then you'll do another ad after that ~ sob. i don't want to ~ DO IT ANYWAY."

I know, I'm certifiably crazy. What can I say.

Growing Pains & Photographs

Okay well, I had a horrible but good-in-the-scheme of things night last night. Jim, a salesguy at my work, asked me if I could take a few photos for him at this nightclub in downtown Detroit. I didn't want too - but no matter how much a squirmed and hummed and hawwed he persisted and eventually got me to agree to it. I didn't know how fancy pants it was. I also didn't know that the guy would be a VERY high maintenance perfectionist somewhat control freaky person.

There were reasons upon reason that I felt uncomfortable. Some, too personal to blog. Some not so personal but still mortifying to me at the time - like the fact that I am three times the size of anyone in there. I was also wearing dirty and baggy jean shorts and a too tight tigers tee shirt, which was NOT appropriate attire, even though it was appropriate for the entire rest of the city since it was happening at the same time as a tiger's game one block away.

So there I am feeling scrudgy, having these "other issues" <---- (i would use finger quotes here if I were talking), and feeling too fat to even identify as a human being, while trying to take direction from the super rich and super fit owner of this club. He was making jokes that only people with money make - and making request that only people with money make, while I stood there with a fake smile nodding and contemplating hurling myself off the balcony.

The night droned on. My back hurt. It was extreemly toasty hot. I got starred at. I got some photos... I faked some camera knowledge and accidently learned a little bit. I fudged my way through the night. It was 90 percent horrible and 10 percent great, but right now most of what I remember is the 90 percent horrible.

Thank God Tracie came with me. I think I would have freaked the fuck out if I would have done it alone even though she and Jim sat the couch and drank martinis while I worked.

Anyway I lived. I got a few decent shots and a really nasty story to tell people the next time I am drunk and high at the same time. (Which will probably be never, since I rarley drink and never get high...)

I am posting my favorite two pics of the night. :)

One story in a billion...

I normally believe portraits taken in black and white are more telling. I think they let you have a glimpse of the person's soul like color film does not. I don't profess to know why, and to be honest I don't have any solid theories to back this up at all, but for me colors are beautiful but distracting. When I see a photo with colors my eyes are looking at the tones; the way light plays upon the tones; the way saturation looks true to life or not. I notice whether or not the colors are real or fabricated; I notice and try to pick apart how the photographer created the effect. Once I've done that, I try to figure out why the photographer went with that effect - what message they were trying to convey. I think about the technical aspects; the light bounce; the aperture and focal length.

I think about just about everything besides the person in the photo.

I also think color portraiture highlight zits and color discrepancies in the skin; again distracting the easily distracted.

I love black and white photography.

But.. here is the problem with b&w photography. It's hard to mask pain. It's hard to smile without it looking fake. It's hard to make the muscles around the eyes tell a story other than one of reality. In this medium, it feels impossible to convince the eyes to lie.

I find it irritating and fascinating that every time I post a picture of myself people tell me I look angry, sad, pitiful, hurt, mad, or pissed off. I find it irritating because I'm not at that moment, on the exterior, any of those things. Most of the time I'm calmly playing with my camera and trying to learn photographic theory.

But then I think more deeply on it - and I wonder if that's completely true. I mean, why am I taking photos of myself in the first place? Am I really practicing portraiture or am I trying desperately to be seen? Am I fucking with my camera or am I screaming from the top of my lungs 'NOTICE ME, NOTICE ME, NOTICE MY PAIN AND WHO I AM AND WHY I AM AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NOTICE ME'?

Without even trying I see the sad within myself... I see the hurt, mad and pissed off, and sometimes even angry. I see it, feel it, and live it. But I don't share all of that, all of the time. In fact, I try not to share it much at all. I try not to bother people with my tales of woe, or come across as someone who isn't completely resilient and strong.

When they say, with such conviction, how horribly devastated I look, it leads me to wonder if somehow they can actually see me. It fascinates me and fills me with joy, and makes my head hurt, and floods me with profound happiness and scares the fuck out of me to be seen like that - and to be that completely exposed.

But then I think maybe it's all in my head. How do I know for sure that they are not just noticing the wrinkles & the creases in my forehead that seem to have sprouted there over the past few years - aging me and adding a somewhat grizzled facade to my once docile face? I don't. How do I know it's not just the default assumption to make when someone isn't smiling? I don't.

I suppose it doesn't really matter - because it's one of those situations with undisputed simultaneous truths. I am trying to learn photographic theory. I am trying to learn about lighting and drama in the printed form. My face is changing from a young woman to an older woman. My wrinkles are making their debuts. My crease in my forehead is becoming more substantial. I am often trapped within a whirlwind of pain; including sadness, despair and hopelessness. I am trying to be seen and noticed. I am am screaming silently. I am showing off the way shy people do. I am exposing myself for reasons even I don't understand with absolute clarity. I am writing a book of myself for the world to read, and trying desperately to share my story.