Little Bill

It’s always late at night when I feel the most introspective. The lights are low, the world has gone quiet, and I’m left to my own thoughts. It’d be nice if this pair of Excedrin I’ve taken would kick in, though.

I used to be a big LiveJournal fiend. One feature from their site I should add to my blog is the “what I’m listening to” feature. Sometimes the music you’re listening to very much adds a level of insight to your own feelings. Tonight it’s Georgia on My Mind as performed by Ray Charles.

Almost one-half of the way through my thirtieth year finds me back where I started: reminding myself of the personal changes I’m undergoing. I keep coming back to whatever they say it is: It takes XXX amount of days to form a habit. 28 days. 30 days. Whatever.

It doesn’t matter. Instead I’m much more curious: how do you keep going? How do you make a change? How do you get out of your own way and do something new? Something better? Or stop doing something bad?

How do you grow?

I don’t know why, but somehow between 1:59am and 3:00am today I had the incredible urge to take every camera I own and smash them against a brick wall. I’ve never had an urge like this before and already it’s gone.

Still, sometimes I wonder if, despite my incredible love for photography, they are taking something away from us. Perhaps they’re stealing a moment in time best left stamped upon our memories instead. I think this is because whenever I look at a photograph — whether mine or someone else’s — I feel a sense of loss. That I should be there instead of here.

Maybe the Indians had it right. Strange that I still feel sheepish whenever I try and take a candid of a person on the street. Every time I feel like I’m invading their privacy, in public.

Maybe I’m just feeling grouchy because I haven’t actively been taking photographs in a few weeks. There’s just so many other things going on in my mind.

Maybe I oughta just shut up and take more photos.

doormat [dawr-mat, dohr-]
n.
1. a mat placed before or inside a door for wiping dirt from the shoes
2. one that submits without protest to abuse or indignities

What is it about people that they think I’m going to fall under this definition? That I’m only here to be a friend when it’s convenient, when I’m needed, only to be discarded and thrown back into the toy box until some sort of boredom arrives again?

How is it I’ve got poor-weather friends? Not to be mistaken with fair-weather friends, who only seem to take any interest in you when I’m doing well. No, the poor-weather friend only seems to come out of the woodwork when they need a shoulder to cry on, or to have some sort of validation. You know the type: "my boyfriend broke up with me / I’m feeling lonely / Maybe I can resume talking to Little Bill as if nothing’s happened, and never mind I haven’t initiated one conversation in three months and haven’t wondered why Little Bill hasn’t…"

This also applies to those who see to contact me only when they need a website built for peanuts or a free photographer, incidentally.

What makes them think I’m going to be there when they come around again? Am I not being a good friend for not being there? Am I not being a good friend for drawing a line and saying that it’s unacceptable?

Oh, and don’t get me started about girls who reject me after dating me but still want to be my friend. I don’t need an army of girls in my circle of friends all of whom can wear the “I’ve dated Little Bill” badge. One or two good ones will suffice.

Am I being unreasonable?