Weekly Photo Challenge : Shadow

Tap tap tap....

I’m still here. Or at least I think I am, it’s hard to tell. I tend to fib to myself quite a bit. Not massive great whoppers, just little white lies to save my feelings cos’ I’m a bit delicate y’see…

I’ve been slacking on the posting again, I know. I could say I’ve been neck-deep in work ( which would be true ), or I could say I’ve been kicked sideways by withdrawal AND side-effects caused by my medication ( which would also be entirely factual ), but neither would have really stopped me posting had I not been wallowing in “Meh.” for the last couple of weeks. Meh is the nemesis of all creativity and no friend of mine.

So, as I wait patiently for the Meh to wander away in search of fresh prey here’s a photograph of my left thumbnail. Imagine the fingers tapping away on the desk in slow simmering, yet entirely passive aggressive, frustration and you’ll have a pretty accurate picture of me over the last week or so.


The 52 Week Project. A demonstration of self-inflicted agony.

I hate photos of myself. It’s not that I’m pathologically vain, I’m just wired to pretty much sit in the corner of the buffet party of life and watch the other more interesting / prettier / younger / smarter / better dressed / well read do their thing. I’m a moderately amenable loner. I’m happy in silence and I don’t feel the need to cram it full of crap just for the sake of it. I’m embracing mental minimalism.

That said, I like to think I’m not a bad sort of chappie. I can hold a conversation and I’m genuinely interested in what’s going on with you.

But me? Well, not so keen.

So why on earth I decided to sign up for the 52 Week Project is totally beyond me.  A small amount of analysis has led me to these possibilities :

a) Phrogmom led me astray with her lovely photos

b) Maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally be able to take that in-focus, bright light, no hiding behind Photoshop self portrait that I’ve always wanted.

c) I really need to get more use out of my beautiful camera, even though actually leaving the house isn’t always an option.

d) I’m a masochist with Signing-Up-For-Stuff tendencies.

Anyhoo, this is this week’s photograph.

Right here, right now, this is how my not too friendly friend Borderline is making me feel.

However, being Borderline means that could all change in an hour. Fingers crossed. It’s too dark, too vague, and almost entirely unfocussed, which ironically is exactly how I feel.

Weekly Photo Challenge: (Boundaries)


The Line. Don't even think about it.

As a youngster I used to love travelling by train on my own. Not so much because I enjoyed the nausea-inducing, bone-rattling, smoke boxes that carriages used to be, but because of The Line.
The boundary that marked the exact place you shouldn’t step beyond for fear of being sucked under the express from Clapham Junction. The minute I’d step upon the platform it would taunt me, so in response each time I would nonchalantly step on it. It was important to look as casual as possible, of course, in case a member of staff happened to catch me, whereby I could stare back wide-eyed and innocent… “Sorry, what ? Oh *this* line? I didn’t notice…”

Then there were the times when no staff were around ( which was 90% of the time. I lived in a small town that seemed to be permanently stuck in the 60’s and appeared to give off some sort of tangerine-hued aura ). I would step right over the line and wait for the fast train to hurtle through at a speed that would seem to imply that trains are allergic to orange.

It’s often said of young’uns “It was as if they felt themselves to be immortal..” This was not the case for me, I was more than aware I was opening myself up to potentially being sucked off the “Don’t Step Here!” zone and within half an hour some poor bugger would be in charge of scraping me off the line with a spatula.
Maybe it’s just that at that age I had so little comprehension of just what a gift life is. Which would explain why I became such a Grade A wuss once I had children of my own.

It goes without saying that, if given a choice, I tend to travel by bus with them.