It Only Takes One of Us to be Alone

My health took a little dip backwards yesterday.  I just didn't feel good.  I was tired and achy and. . . dare I say it. . . weepy.  I didn't do anything.  For half the day I merely lay in bed and listened to music.  Didn't sleep, really, just listened, muted light falling through the shutters, full of sad lyrics from the melancholy music to which I am so prone.  

It's the same dark that falls
On the light that shines
Everything seems to want to hurt this time.

Immobile, hour after hour.  

Late in the afternoon, I rose.  I'd been thinking about the glass plates and the film I'd shot before I got sick.  I needed to develop them.  I got two plates, went to the garage, and put them in the developing tank.  One plate worked, the other didn't.  

I took four sheets of film and put them in the tank.  They worked.  I scanned two.  Those big negatives look almost 3D.  I sat staring at the computer screen.  Color.  Just try to make it look like an old postcard.  Fishing on the banks of Grit City River.  Timeless.  

Surreal existence
Casts its shadows to the blind
Everything seems to want to hurt this time

The music continued, sad and unrelenting.  Bones ached, muscles pained.  

There needs to be a law against this shit.