Dusk as cathedral.

Ghosts and nostalgia / Avalon Beach

Western Australia, September 2012.

I sit on my bed and look down on the sky

Feeling life again

This picture was taken to commemorate the first day of feeling okay after five days of being cooped up and miserable with a mostly untreated cold. Fresh air — sunshine — and steamed broccoli with garlic mayonnaise, 'cause it's nice to have an appetite and not take it for granted.

Western Australia, November 2012.

December 26th

December 25th

Two roses

You see?

This photo is a tribute to Tumblr

What else to do with Angled Light On Rumpled Sheets and Romantic Dreams of Travel, complete with Vintage Suitcase?

Sister and sea, before dinner

Sea air

Goodbye, July

A mediocre month. It brought Havel, Virginia Woolf, thick fog, and finally employment. Ravens came and left. I spent it rather at the mercy of my brain — back and forth between an obsessive buzzing mood and a numb, heavy, tending-towards-despair. But sometimes it's just a matter of riding it out. If you can continue to get out of bed, eat, go outside, write, those things, if you can just wait for it to subside and protect yourself from (doing) things that would make it worse, then you'll be okay. That's how you can practice hope when you don't feel hope.

Summer classes are over now, thank goodness, and I'm looking forward to this month. August has always been my favorite flavor.

Week, ish, in photos (180-188)

These are quite late because my compact (my only digital camera) kind of broke, so there weren't going to be any more pictures in the point-and-shoot 365 for a while. (It fell out of my bag when I fell off my bike, and took three pictures [see 188] before succumbing to coma. No money at present to get it diagnosed or fixed.) But I may be able to borrow a point-and-shoot for the summer. Anyhow.


180/365. Couchsurfing morning.


181/365. Illinois summer.


182/365. Japantown.


183/365. These for Father's Day. Nice and dense; proper muffins, not breakfast cupcakes.


184/365. Golden Gate Park Stables, now closed and minus a riding ring. A childhood haunt.


185/365. New top in the bathroom at my new summer college.


186/365. Because I wanted to make these.


187/365. My neighborhood. High summer fog.


188/365. Walked straight into the ocean to rinse them out. Then pictures. Ha, ha.

North Main

I always love oncoming headlights. The low angle. They make for stunning shadows and call unexpected things to your attention.

Closing remarks on summer classes in Wisconsin

Even though there were kind of a lot of us in one room with not much privacy, my cabinmates made a cool thing happen with all of us. It makes me hopeful about the possibilities of Christian community and female community. And I learned some things about meeting people, especially about the rewards of accepting and respecting and being patient with people I don't think I can like: namely, glimpses of who and why they are, and some returned respect and goodwill.


I got to study by headlamp, which was a strange and excellent experience.


I loved the lake best.


I couldn't choose what to eat, or when; I couldn't prepare my own food; I couldn't eat alone (and I knew only one person when I came). These things freaked me out at the beginning. But I got through it.


And my anthropology class, which met in the little one-room library, was the awesome cake underneath all these toppings. I pwned some discussions, chewed over some important new brainfoods with my classmates, and got to ask my professor some personally urgent questions.

Week in photos (173-179)

173/365.


174/365. Raw Great Lakes copper.


175/365. Soccer Cabinmate's rice cake snack. I was impressed.


176/365.


177/365. "Guys, come help me burn the last three years of my life."


178/365. Amy.


179/365. This is a quote that doesn't mean what it used to.