Picture Perfect

It's a gorgeous photo--almost iconic. And I could never have taken it before John's careful tutelage. Even though I don't have an SLR, even though I took it at night, I got a low ISO for good resolution, a low aperture and did a good job hand-holding it. Then, as I whispered "I wish there was a bit more fog" and heard a voice say in my ear "the photographer can control everything in the picture" god must have blown in a bit more fog so the top just disappears in the fog and poof. A beautiful picture.

So good, I can't quite believe what I have on my camera. And I promptly burst into tears, on the street, in public, mascara and all.

I ached to show it to John. He would have been pleased and told me my pride is well deserved. No one else will really care. Oh, sure--if I post it on facebook someone will say "nice job" -- but they won't realize that just because you can buy postcards of very similar shots, doesn't mean it is easy to do something like that.

I suppose if Jason hadn't disappeared (what the fuck is it with me and men just disappearing? I should get a job managing modern-day Houdinis! I guess I should have talked sexy more quickly after all), maybe I wouldn't have been so susceptible. I've been doing good. Clearly not good enough, though.

I feel pathetic. Why the fuck can't I get over this and move on? But move on to what? That's the real problem. I have no over-arching passions at the moment. I've been reading a great book, but when it is done, well, not much to be excited about. I'm feeling like my creative life is a failure, my political involvement is now moot, and there seems little chance of meeting someone. I feel like I should accept reality, but accepting it feels a form of defeat.

I'm trying to write a short story to submit to one of my favorite magazines, and the story is good (something that happened in real life that is a little more dramatic and less vulnerable than my typical blog entries)--but I can't find an ending for it. Same with more and more blog entries. I end up not hitting the "publish" button because artistically I want an "end," a lesson, a moral, an upbeat note--something that makes it fell complete. I want that for my life too, but the only ways to get that are nihilistic. I keep living in Checkoff, wishing for Jane Austen, but rejecting Sartre. Checkoff is better than Sartre. But only barely.