How Many?

SIP 70, Ankle 39

It’s getting harder and harder for me to write anything. Or maybe it’s just harder to think. My days are pretty uniform. A long breakfast with various puzzles and dawdling over food, a couple hours of weeding, lunch, knitting outside, dinner, maybe watch part of a movie, or, tonight an opera streamed from the Met. It’s not an unpleasant life, I’m not complaining about anything, I just don’t have much to say. Today I started worrying that I have photographed every leaf in this yard at least once, I’ve double-exposed, I’ve collaged, I’ve about reached the bottom of the barrel. Or have I? I know there’s enough raw material to work on for the rest of my life, but there are certain logistical issues with my computer set up that are too ludicrous to describe, issues involving stairs and software, updates and subscriptions and storage. 

And here is your Covid inspirational anecdote for the day:  if ten people are sitting around talking and a friend enters the room with glitter in her hair, how many folks will have glitter on them by the time they all leave?  Stay safe everyone...