"That didn't work," I muttered, scampering to catch up with my friend from college. My camera has a nighttime setting, denoted with a sliver of moon but I always (seriously - without fail) blurred the first shot before I would arrange my facial features into a mask of concentration, scold my hands to steady and try again.
"Too cold to deal with it," I replied when she offered to wait while I tried again. The wind was strong and breathtakingly cold and I found I didn't care enough to get a proper exposure.
As I rest and unpack and sort through pictures from Chicago, I find many photos are unsteadily shot. There's a certain watercolor-dreaminess to some of them though. As if I was entranced with the light in some state of intoxication, but unable to capture anything but the essence of it as it reflected off the river and illuminated the night.
"Embrace the imperfection," I murmured this morning as I resized and rotated the images. I've avoided work, though I could have spent hours replying to email and initiating new conversations. I have slept and thought and rearranged my living room as my new sectional (!!) came with a rather large ottoman that blocked most paths through the room when sitting 5 inches from the loveseat's ottoman. I decided the 'find another path or put your feet up!' theme wasn't working well, though it did amuse me to watch dog and cat make their way from couch to loveseat without setting paw on the carpet.
I started several posts but lost track of my point. As You Mean To Go On told of the first snow blowing of the season, a chore I enjoy wholeheartedly as the bright red machine happily chugs along, spraying the white fluff high in the sky so it shimmers in the sunlight. It was also meant to serve as a reminder that improper coverage in the beginning results in foot-high blocks of ice at the end of the driveway that copious amounts of whining will make your dad tackle on a wintertime visit. "Did you get the flare at the end of your driveway?" he asked when he called yesterday. "Go out and check again."
Random Bullets of Romance chronicled some fun fantasies and was a bit racy, but I didn't finish it. (The post, not the... never mind.) Practically, I'm trying to relax into dating. It's a bit uncomfortable - despite my protestations of being ready and at a place in my life that makes sense - to allow a man entry into mind, body, heart.
If it's right, I'll know.
I scowl at the frisson of fear that emerges - it's so nice to have someone to talk to/think about - and I'm not eager to lapse into solitude again. But if I made it through my twenties without latching onto the 'he's better than nobody' philosophy*, I vehemently refuse to apply that now. Everything gets blurred - affection and sex, companionship and intimacy - but I'm reasonably smart. I'll figure it out.
*Both men I'm seeing are exquisite individuals - I don't think I'd be settling with either of them. But just because someone is all kinds of wonderful doesn't necessarily mean our futures should align. Right? Right.
Speaking of, Future went professional after an interesting discussion with Adam over lunch. We talk enough that he knows what I want to do next and, in true Adam fashion, has manipulated people and events so that it's likely I'll get to do it. I find the idea bittersweet - I adore my job and my circle of colleagues. The gentle comfort that I've grown good at this. Given my talent and passion in Industry though, my ambition and affection for power means I must gain new skills, attempt new challenges and keep an eye on upward mobility. It's scary - and the timing is TBD - but in a good way.
"Oh, I'm festive!" I cried to my parents as I talked to them while driving home on Thursday. They'd already driven home but had carefully prepared the house for me - snow blower repaired, new furniture arranged, lights draped across the porch and tree perched on the kitchen table. "Look at my bows!" I exclaimed happily, blinking back tears while I admired the floppy red decorations tied to the garage lights as I pulled the Jeep inside. "Thank you," I offered. "I just love it."
Smallest One called yesterday, full of requests for presents and descriptions of where she'd seen toys - either on television or in stores. I listened to her earnest explanations, giggling at times and making notes. We go overboard at Christmas - love translating materialistically to bunches and bunches of stuff. Still, there's snow to blow and carols to sing and blurry photos of lights to take. It's a happy time of year, hence the drafted post entitled Joy.
I'm unlikely to finish any of them, of course, especially now that I've hit the high points and decided, of course, to embrace the imperfection. But I did want to say hello (Hi!) and get a December post on record.