the language of pixels

Some people collect coins, seashells, stamps, beer steins.

I collect moments.

The older I get, the hungrier I get for experience. Unfortunately, experience can be expensive and a tricky thing-one may want experience, but you don't always get the kind you want. Of course I want the experiences normal people might want-travel, love, new friends, meeting Kevin Smith, going on a cruise, going to Disney World, going to Comic Con & Oddities Con, Tennessee, blah blah blah. I was lucky, or will be lucky enough, to have had or had these experiences. But of course, the ones you don't want-a fire, a shooting, death, moving out on your own due to circumstances you never wanted to pass, well, they're bitter at the top and richer in the center. I have been lucky enough to where my good experiences outweigh my bad.

I see my life as one of those silly patchwork quilts-each thing I do or go through gets sewed on, good or bad, and the better the experience, the brighter the patch. Of course, contrast is needed, though not necessarily wanted.

The way people may treasure their stamps or dolls or Magic cards, that's how I feel with my pictures. Like I can reach into my computer and sift them through my fingers like sand or gold, and I eye additions to my collection like Pokemon cards. Group picture at colorful event? Most points. Selfie with someone I don't see often but will always remember? Second most points. Pictures of me on my own? Least points. Of course, this ranking system sometimes doesn't sit well with me, it feels as if I'm collecting people, rather than moments, and sometimes it feels like I hide behind my camera, but I guess everyone has their own suit of armor.

Not many people like to sit there and watch a photo slideshow, but when I do it it's like taking a few hits of Ativan or Xanax. I have a very good memory when it comes to my photos, 9/10 I can usually tell you when it was, what was happening, and who was with me, but there are some where even I don't even remember. I like it when this happens. It's kind of like when I do edits on my story and I go back after some time has passed and I see what I've done, and it's refreshing.

Having my photos digitized is convenient, but sometimes I wish I could literally touch them, as if they might ground me. Of course, this IS possible, but it would be extremely time consuming, expensive, and hard to get all of my photos printed, since a great deal of them involve Brad or others naked, and I'm sure Walmart/Walgreens wouldn't appreciate that, or indulge it.

Sometimes it feels like taking pictures is the only thing that gives me a purpose. Like, if something happens to me, who is going to do it? Nobody, probably, outside of the normal picture taking that usually goes on. If I ever had dark thoughts, they are usually held at bay by that prospect. And of course, my family/friends.

Enough of this philosophical bullshit.

TV obtained, luggage tags being delivered today, Jack feeling better, I guess, besides overwhelming neurotic-ism. I was worried until I saw him humping his ball. I love him to death, but he sure as hell picked a bad time to lose teeth. Nothing as of yet on the whole career change thing, but I didn't expect it to be quick.

Nothing happening this weekend. My goal for February is to relax and not overwhelm myself with ten thousand things to do. As of right now all I have planned is the Office trivia and Kevin Smith, and that's the way I want to keep it.

The anniversary of the breakup passed a few days ago.

And I still don't know how we got here.

-Rae