Every day we procrastinate because we are not "in the mood" to do something right now, right this moment. We try not to add dates or hours to things. We try to forget about deadlines, auto-imposed deadlines over all. That is the way of the procrastinator.
And all of a sudden it's been seven months. What in earth have I been doing the last seven months? Why didn't I write more?
I was just waiting for "inspiration", the "right moment". I wanted to learn more about things. Have something more interesting to say about things. Learn how to get better photographs. Perhaps buy a new semi-profesional camera to replace my old Sony Cybershot now that I can take better photos with my Moto X.
I know it's not the Sony Cybershot. I know it's me. I have a million pictures in my mind, but I am not that resourceful to bring them to reality.
Words are my thing. Words have always been my thing. Not pictures, not drawing. I profoundly admire photographers and visual artists. I love their work. I enjoy their work so much. But my work is made of words. Perhaps some numbers, but mostly words.
My life is made of words.
And silence, of course.
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