To What End

I don’t like not writing and sharing, at the very least, a little. Been trying to post on Instagram the last few months and I’m awful at it. Have had an account for years lying dormant, so thought I’d (finally) give it a go, but after a time, ten likes feel the same as fifty and who the heck cares.

“To

I’ve a backlog of photos I’d like to post that were supposed to find their way to Instagram, but I haven’t tended to business. Yet. I’m more concerned with the photos I’ve let pass by in recent times like the car key that landed perpendicularly onto the elevator crack. Had it landed parallel (onto it), a photo wouldn’t have done any good in capturing the abyss beyond.

“To

I made some pretty nifty zombie heads in jars to celebrate a Walking Dead themed work celebration that deserved a pic or two. Zombies used to scare the poopella outta me, blame it on the release of the 1990 version of Night of the Living Dead. The plodding methodical body with no mind to reason with nor to outmaneuver. Zombies were second only to anything in a mask. Obscure the eyes, cover the nuance of movement upon the face, leave nothing to be “read”? Michael Meyers embodies both the methodical plodding AND an engulfing mask. Love what you fear.

“To

“To

Oh, and that time the engine nearly fell out of my car wiping the oil pan out entirely and was salvaged only by a portion of a passenger-side floorboard. That was meant for a photo, but I was just glad to not have injured anyone. Now a mere two weeks later, all is again safe and up to speed quite literally. My lovely little Beetle lives on.

“To

Did manage to capture my favorite gift wrap job from a mucho talented friend.

“To

“To

“To

“To

“To

“To

“To

“To

“To

And I’ve taken some holiday photos for the sharing. Christmas feels like a marathon this year and I’m one pie crust behind. A different kinda tree here, a bit of a Charlie Brown up and off the ground so Julian’s little body can have free reign to move about without fear of a tree mishap, like accidentally donning the thing. He’s not a cat after all (resists temptation to post video of felines harassing holiday foliage).

Speaking of little bodies, I’m an aunt! Sure, I have a little over five months more till we meet, but aunt, I am. Bean calls the baby Button. There’s much speculation over whether Button is a boy or a girl, and I say, “Don’t worry, we’ll ask her when she gets here.” Yes, Bee, Bean and Button.

Still wondering where I belong in the world overall. Thankful for the pockets I fit here and there. Wish I had an everloving clue on where to look and what to seek, cuz it’s getting late(r) in the game, and it’s all going so fast. ♦

Share on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter
Care to share?