I feared having another sleepless night. I could feel it in me, though, the sleeplessness. It is a nervousness and an anxiety. At evening's end, I took an Advil PM. I sat around for awhile, and it didn't feel as if it was working, so I took another. Two is always a mistake in the morning. I don't know what is in those pills, but it should be illegal. Rather, they keep things that are less harmful like opium from us. Nobody ever lost a kidney from opium smoking, but plenty have from Advil. What sense does that make?
I would have been better off with a nerve pill, I think, but they are difficult for me to procure. I am trying to save what I have. And so. . . .
The milk can picture is another test shot. That is all I have at present. Making real pictures would take a commitment I can't make at the moment. My mother is getting much better, though. I don't have to do everything for her. She is able to use her broken shoulder side a bit more every day. Of course. It pleases her, but the better she gets, the closer I get to moving home, and therein lies a dilemma. For her, I mean. There will come the painful day of "extraction" when I ask, "Do you think you can manage on your own now?" And, of course, she will guilt me badly. "But mom. . . ?"
An old man living with his mother.
I need to begin to get out more, get on the highway for the day, take some cameras and see if I can find some worthy subjects. But there is only one subject that is worthy, the subject I dare not whisper.
Only the mysteries endure. I want to photograph what is taboo. I want to photograph the quick mysteries that dissipate so quickly yet perpetually endure.
I can't write anything better than that today. I will leave it there.