Day 323: But it is good

OK so I may have spent another three hours editing photos after I got in from work tonight. It seems like I’m going to a lot of trouble for this commission, to the extent were it is no longer commensurate with the pay I’m receiving for said commission… but in truth I’m still learning how to edit, especially with Lightroom as opposed to the program I was using before, so in a sense I’m actually being paid to educate myself. Don’t tell my bosses that though!

But no, also it’s not bad pay for a very inexperienced photographer, and I want to do the best job I can with it. Maybe the marketing company won’t end up using any of the shots, maybe my old manager was only throwing me a bone organising it all for me… maybe it’s just a joke so they can all laugh at me taking it so seriously talking about “shoots” and “commissions” when I’m really producing the most embarrassingly amateur pictures imaginable (shut up brain, goddammit)... but regardless of forces external to myself, which after all I cannot control, here, for myself, I would like to do a good job.

It’s all done now anyway. Finished tweaking the last photos a few minutes ago, and sent them off into the world. Bye-bye ickle photos, enjoy your lives, don’t let the bigger photos pick on you, come back and visit your tired old pa some time.

Indeed. Now I’m sat in bed, perhaps more accurately /slumped/ in bed, tapping this out onto my Chromebook and fighting sleep for just a little while longer. Do need to get my head down soon though, I’m back in the pub for the open in the mawnin.

Anything else to say? Uuurm. It’s good to be alive, isn’t it? I don’t feel that it is, because of depression and that, but it is. Just because you can’t see the sky behind the clouds doesn’t mean the sky is not there. You have to continue with your life labouring under the assumption that the sky in fact /is/ there, and sooner or later the clouds part and the sun shines down and all is bright and clear and perfect again.

So I’ll just apply that mindset to depression. Life doesn’t feel very good right now, but it is good. I could be motes of dust floating in the endless void, I could be mulchy pond life squelching at the bottom of a lake, I could be Donald Trump’s toilet seat. I could be Donald Trump! But instead I get to be me, alive and conscious in a way that none of those other items I listed are, and I get to take photographs and write in Chromebooks and drink black coffee and run my hand across my beard and read poetry by Jack Gilbert and at the appropriate hour stop all of that and lie down and  sleep.