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Friday, September 11

 
 
YEAR:  2020 | Tags:  | | |
 
 
 
 
 

Home, 11:45

 
 

Yesterday and today I listened to The Pretty Things as I walked, having exhausted my podcast possibilities for the moment.

When I got back I started writing. More accurately, I started to try to write. Not a lot of actual writing happened. In the fog of distance working and quarantine, I feel I have lost my rhythm. Sitting here, day after day, things start to feel unreal.

Yesterday, at Arcada, I had full energy. Things got done efficiently and imaginatively. Today, prowling around an empty house, not so much.

I recognise that this will pass, like all moods and phases do. I decide to wait it out, and not stress about it.

Feeling hungry, I pause to make some tea and sandwiches. While I do I photograph a door, and then, as the kettle boils, play with the resulting image in Pixelmator. We might call the result photo-unrealism.

We will, no doubt, see a lot more of this sort of thing as the pandemic continues.