I'm counting down the hours to my vacation (138 to be exact). I'm itching to use film. The last time I visited NYC, I forgot to bring my Pentax, which irked me to no end. Perhaps I'll create my very own dark room one day (another unfulfilled promise from a class back in 2007). I just realized that I've lived in this apartment for over two years. I started from scratch, my insides being fricken ground zero. I had a bedroom filled with boxes from floor to ceiling, remnants of an old life that I despised, and my heart was scraped raw. I'm still rebuilding and find it pretty mind-blowing that I can do whatever I want. Set up a dark room, repaint my walls, turn my bathroom into a mini-garden, or just shrug at the dishes for a whole week. My mind is wandering, something I've allowed myself to do more often. It hurts less. Everything does.
