Wow, a whole month. I am sitting here with a headache, an eye ache, a neck-ache, a backache, leg pain, ringing ears, depleted motivation and a blow to my energy. I’ve been off uni for a good few months now and I would love for someone to give me a fat kick up the ass and tell me to get my shit together. Alas, my ass remains comfortably seated on a sofa. In front of Netflix. Where it always is.
However, some clouds have a silver lining. In my dissertation research, I’ve had difficulty in finding a novel that contains ALL the things I need, and finding a critic that shares ALL the same views as me. I have found nothing so far. But you know what the silver lining is? An increase of motivation by approximately 0.005%; if it hasn’t been written, you gotta write it.
Yeah, I lol because it took me a whole month to summon the energy to write another post and here I am slapping a few photos on a page and calling it a day. As you can tell, I throw all my energy and talents into my words, leaving none for my photography skills. But sometimes we don’t take photos for artistic purposes. Sometimes it’s for memories, and sometimes it’s just to show you the shit I’ve done. We got our old photo albums down from the loft, dating back to the 50s/60s? And I realised two things. One, to spend as much time as possible with those who are important. And two, that it’s the real and in-the-moment shots that we appreciate. Not the artsy ones that took 12 different takes in perfect lighting. This is memory lane, not a gallery.
Ridicule is nothing to be scared of, girls and boys.
Nothing is bred that is weaker than man. Especially when trying to take a photo of something at the top of the wall.
And, obviously, since I am fat girl, I leave you with the mandatory I-was-too-hungry-to-take-a-nice-photo-of-this-but-I-assure-you-it-was-bomb-af shot.