At long last I am able to wrap my hands around the smooth, hard, ebony giver of joy that is my new camera. Aside from a few test pics around the house I haven’t been out taking photo’s yet. The Nikon D90 is heavy as hell. I’d been toting around a little baby with a wrist strap and I’ve graduated into a substantial camera with loads of potential. Pictures are the joy of my life. Lately I am more prone to lose myself looking at photography than reading a book or watching anything on TV. In fact, today I considered canceling my cable TV service. This could be my new lens fund money.
Every time I start doing something new, I feel like a big cheater. Like I am cheating my true love -writing – of my time and devotion. I don’t know why that is, but it happens every time. It’s like my conscience is telling me that I am looking for an excuse not to pursue the very thing that I am afraid to fuck up. I suppose, even my conscience is not very ‘subconscious.’ I don’t let the thought stop me, it makes me work hard to pursue the thing I love, even though ‘what if’ girl tries to take over. I’m setting up my portfolio for Warren-Wilson and I want to take the GRE and then obviously apply to grad schools too. Seems like the only time I get off my ass is when I have a lot of things on my plate. Time to pile it high again, idle hands are not for me. The camera may be my new lover, but the pen is an old friend.
I realize I may have a bit of a problem with sheep.
Seriously, it’s really a small thing.
And well, then there was this one, he wanted in on the fun of course.