My 365 foto project is on hiatus. I'm loathe to say it's dead, because I'd like to start it up again after that Festival That Shall Not Be Named is over. I realize it won't be a 365 project anymore, so maybe I'll come up with something clever to call it. But it's not completely forgotten.
When I'm feeling stressed, I'd rather write than shoot fotos.
I'm feeling stressed.
It's a familiar stress; it happens every year as that Festival That Shall Not Be Named approaches. I know how to deal with it better than I used to.
If one should imply that one of the ways they've been considering dealing with their stress might involve wild romps in the hay and that is shared on facebook, a lot of dudes will stop by to comment. I sometimes forget how delightfully predictable dudes are.
None of them showed up on my doorstep, though.
I'm still obsessing over the Punch Brothers to the point that Hijo screams and runs out of the room whenever I turn on the CD player (yes, I sometimes still use a CD player).
I'm looking forward to the return of Hijo this weekend. I hate coming home after work when he's not here.
My baby's going to be in middle school in a couple of weeks.
I feel old.