Inward Facing


Photo is unrelated.

I went into my studio with the vague plan of tidying up enough to be able to get some actual work done. This noble intention lasted about five minutes. My eyes settled on a box of old photographs and curiosity got the better of me so I started going through them. Then I realized that the box of photo sleeves was within arms reach. Two hours later, the only thing I’d managed to accomplish was a long walk down memory lane and about seventy pages of photo sleeves in no particular order. 

Oh well.

Looking back on the photos from the year that we first moved to Los Angeles made me realize how far I’ve come since then. They seem like a lifetime ago, even though it was probably only five years. Ahh, so young and thin. Ahh such glowing skin. I looked so calm and happy then, although I know for a fact that many of those same photos were taken during a phase of severe depression, so as much as I might look back and wish for youth, I’d never want to go back in time and live it all over again.

I just finally finished reading a book that was given to me as a birthday gift called “Theft by Finding” by David Sedaris. It is a book of collected diary entries from the 1970s through the end of 2002, and considering that it was written by a humorist I expected it to be funny. The dust jacket blurb was quick to tout the fact that other diary books were boring because they deal with the inner lives of the writer, where as this diary book was ‘outward facing’ which made it much more interesting. It was outward facing, alright, but frankly I could have stood to have had a little bit more of that boring old internal world to give me some sense of context. Mostly I felt like each entry was the punchline of some joke that I would have understood if, you know, I was in in the secret. 

So it was a rather mystifying read, and since there wasn’t much through line from entry to entry I had trouble feeling compelled to crack it open except over breakfast.  It ended suddenly and rather pointlessly sometime in mid December 2002 (as promised) as if the publisher had decided that they’d reached their page/word count and didn’t really need to bother wrapping anything up. I mean, yes, it was a diary, so it was under no obligation to follow any kind of act structure, but even in the course of everyday life there are beginnings and endings and rising and fallings that might’ve lent some cue to the fact that I was approaching the final page. 

But then, what do I know. My journals are all inward facing. Heck, half these posts are inward facing. How dull.

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~ by Gwydhar Gebien on November 20, 2017.

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