There were books on that bookcase. I wondered. That last picture must have been after they were packed, well into the move.
Yes, this is a scancafe scan. Nice example—some weird tear of the negative in the corner, and extremely yellow. They claim not to scan partial negatives or negs of only one image, so what on earth is this? They gave me some of my money back after the many issues, but this before I confirmed that negatives from December 1996–March 1999 are totally missing. I shot a lot of chrome in 1997, but that still means that the Pakistan work, which I’d been looking forward to seeing scanned, is gone. Lost. Gone. I know that they were there because I have the contact sheets for them in the place they should be. I’ve finally put everything back in its place, and I am 2/3rds of the way through organizing the scans. I haven’t bothered to contact them again because I had so many complaints. Perhaps that’s the situation with an order of ~6,000 images, but it’s disappointing nonetheless. I intend to write a final summary of the experience, which started last August, to finish and summarize the whole process. It wasn’t my intention to get into that now, but the image is telling.
So. Moving Psych 255y, where the issues are heartier. The more real the possibility of leaving my apartment (& NYC) becomes, the more I am able to appreciate everything. Because the walk to work every day is numbered, it’s no longer that same monotonous route. I look at people. I take snaps with my cell phone. I engage. I feel people when ordinarily the sheer weight of the city (or simply the sheer monotony of my routine) forbids me to do so. It’s breathtaking. Compounding the beauty, people open in return.
When I’m in a bad mood, when I’m sad, angry, depressed, or stressed the only thing that always shifts the mood is to stop and help someone else. No, I don’t always want to, but I try. It doesn’t matter what my problems are, and it doesn’t matter if the other’s are bigger or smaller. We are wired to help each other. It feels good.
The confusion and uncertainty is painful, but there is richness in it, a tapestry of color to which I otherwise blind myself. I have always felt a sureness in my bones before taking a ridiculous leap, the rightness of the whens and wheres and hows. I want that. Now.
So sit, you silly thing. It will come.