Whatever the Fates Allow

I don't want to be the author of "The Bummer Show," and though I'm not certain how to proceed, I will give it a shot.  I was told that people who keep reading here do so to see what happens next.  I guess that is true of all reading even though we know how the story ultimately ends.  I'm sure I will struggle trying to find my footing here, but I'll try.  

You would think that after being up most of the night dealing with my mother, I would be able to sleep the next night.  That is what I thought.  But for a variety of reasons, that didn't work out.  I'm up in the dark on Halloween after an hour of reading the news trying to figure out what to say next.  I'll just do what I always do and see what comes out.  

I picked up my mother's Dilaudid in the afternoon and brought it back to her house, but I had to leave so I told her we would start it with her eight o'clock dose.  I needed to be there to watch her.  I had gotten a long lecture from the druggist at the pharmacy about how powerful this drug was and what the side effects could be.  When I got back to my mother's, I Googled Dilaudid vs Morphine.  I wasn't sure which was more powerful.  After reading about Dilaudid, I could only go, "Holy Smokes!"  Yup.  Next step, heroin.  

I didn't get out of my mother's house until two, so I told her that I was going to get sushi at five and would be back to fix her dinner at six.  I felt the need for a little break.  But eating sushi alone on a Friday night after what I've been going through didn't have the usual charm.  My neck and back hurt and my left hand was still numb.  The food was good, but I was not enjoying things the way I should.  

I was almost back to my mother's when she called.  She wanted me to know that the neighbors were going to take her down the street to look at the Halloween lights at six.  

What?

When I pulled into the garage, she was waiting on them.  She seemed her old self.  

When she came back, she said she wanted a drink.  

"You can't have alcohol with the Dilaudid," I told her.  "This is a very powerful drug, and I am going to have to watch you to make sure you don't have a bad reaction."

"I don't want to take it.  I'll just have the other one.  I want to have a whiskey."

That was fine with me, but what the fuck happened?  In the afternoon I'd had a talk with her about getting some help here in the house.  I wouldn't be able to stay with her twenty four hours a day and she would need someone around.  She was adamant about not wanting that.  

"I can take care of myself!"

I think the idea of people coming into her house made her forget about the pain on which she'd been focussed.  She spent the rest of the night as she has spent nights this past year.  

That is where I am today.  

I wished I was happier when I got word about some new instant film that is coming out soon.  I had written to the company who announced it telling them I was excited to see the film, and I provided them with a bit of my history with Polaroid films and the second and third generations of instant film after Polaroid shut down.  They asked to see examples of the work, so I sent them some.  Then I didn't hear back from them for a long time and I thought they just weren't impressed.  But yesterday, I received this:

Thank you for sharing your background and details with us.

If possible, could you please share the print of the Impossible Project with us? Additionally, please send us your mailing address and contact information so we can add you to our testing list.

Best

Ceci

In normal times, I would be ecstatic.  I'm still happy, but I really just feel worn out.  Everything in life just seems like more work now.  Still, I feel a little satisfaction that my old pictures are appreciated.  Very few people have actually seen the large prints I've made which, I think, are very impressive.  I've never had the chutzpah, I guess, to try to get a gallery show, so only you who come here and those who saw the one show at Gallery 591 long ago have even seen the digital versions.  The curator at 591 said that it was the most viewed exhibition they ever had.  

There's that.  

All of that is gone, I guess.  Over the years, I lost contact with everyone there.  And elsewhere.  I don't feel as though I exist anywhere anymore.  Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.  It's nobody's fault.  It's just the way things go.  

To follow up on my query from a couple days ago concerning the use of color vs. black and white in pictures, I'll post these two photos today.  Same picture but completely different.  The red lights in the coffeehouse lend a certain ambiance to the picture, but the black and white emphasizes the aloneness, I think.  I feel they are each spooky in their own way.  I am indecisive.  I can't choose. 

The sun is up now, and so is my mother.  I need to get her meds and feed her.  Tonight I will sit with her and pass out candy to the trick or treaters.  

And thus the holidays begin.