Left of the middle
Spent almost two hours and took over 200 photographs for this two-page advertising spread I have to get done before the week is out. My shoulders sagged while I was on a ladder as I finally let my mind relax and forget about the shutter for a while. And well, I almost fell off. My eye caught my reflection in this huge mirror. I decided that if I focused on that image of myself, at that moment, sad but resolute, I should be fine.
I had to take a photo. A tad left of the middle, still not quite right. A little anger has crept in finally, almost palpable over the horrible feelings of betrayal that has layered on top of the other, in varying shades of greys, blacks, blues sick yellow. The exquisite colours of a bruise. Or a sunset that had very little style.
I'm exhausted, especially since I've allowed this to seep into my very bone. This morning, that little furrow between my wife's eyes (which deepens, in turns in anger or concentration, depending on the occasion) was even more marked than it's been for a while. I gave her a little smile, took her hand and licked the salty well of her palm. I said, "That was a strange thing to do." And I did it again.
Today, I did not cry. My friend says, "It might get better by day five but you'll live."
I laughed out loud today and the sound was alien. My sister called me and said she added something too, along with what my parents were sending. And I could hear dad and mom trying to yell their hello's to me and talk about how their day went. My already articulate 19-month old niece added to the cacophony by gurgling cheerfully in the background. My exasperated sister finally put them all on speaker phone. I let their happy, trite chatter wash over me. They didn't even notice that I didn't say anything apart from, "I miss you and I love you."
I'll live.