Sleep still flees from me. I tire of chasing it. Maybe that’s the problem, that I’m chasing it. It had been my habit for a long time to shoot for eight hours. I seem to remember reading somewhere that as we age, we require less sleep. Maybe I don’t need eight hours. At any rate, I’m certainly not getting them. Except for a couple of nights when the events of the day relieved some of my stress, I seem to be averaging four or five hours in fitful episodes of no more that a couple hours at a time. Honestly, it’s exhausting.
I’ve received no small number of suggestions, none of which seems to help. Drugs are out, since I’ve decided that the “no substances” route is the safest way for me to get though this minefield. I don’t think that there is a magic bullet. I can but hope that as I heal and shake off this mantle of depression that is hindering my progress, some acceptable level of sleep will return.
Anyway, let me give myself a break from my constant whining and show you some pretty pictures of fungi. My friend from Hamilton, Ontario, Ron Barrons sent these two images a couple of days ago. He shot them last weekend on one of his regular outings into the wonderful countryside around the Niagara Escarpment:
Ron says that he likes shooting mushrooms because their growth patterns are interesting and they pose so nicely. I couldn’t agree more.
I am looking forward to visiting Hamilton again next year. I’ll be able see my son, Hans, and his family and my friends Ron and Brenda. Ron and I will take some long walks in the woods and try to outdo each other with our cameras. Here is a big mama mushroom and her babies on a fallen Birch tree:
There is no such thing as a “dead” tree in these woods. After they fall they begin a new life which takes them back to their origin.
I was always so happy with Our House. It’s big and roomy, plenty of room for parties. There is a dining room table which seats twelve. Now it seems somehow too big, too unrelentingly spacious. I’m rattling around in here like a forgotten marble in a boxcar. As I walked around the house last night wondering if I’d ever actually go to sleep instead of just feeling stupefyingly sleepy, a ship across the harbour caught my eye through the open door. “Hey, I can make that interesting!”, I thought. Actually, I said it out loud. I’ve been talking to the walls a lot lately. Is that a bad sign?
I complained to a friend recently (something else I’ve been doing far to much of) that none of the things in life which used to give me joy are producing any these days. No joy. What to do. She said, “Pretend.” (she did elaborate on that) I thanked her and said that I would give it a try. It’s just crazy enough that it might possibly work. So, deciding to experiment, I grabbed my camera and tried to focus my mind on deriving some good vibes from the experience as I focused my G11 on the image. Hmmm . . . the image is ever so slightly blurry, but I did get a little tickle of satisfaction from getting just the shot that I had envisioned.
It’s not going to be hanging on any gallery walls, but it shouts at me nevertheless. It’s deafening. If fact, there are so many messages in this image that I could run on about it until you beg me to stop. It is the Vogon Poetry of pictures. I’ll let you puzzle it out for yourself.
In the meantime, I’m going to practice pretending. Maybe if I pretend enough, it might begin to feel real.