black and white. The days meld into each other. Weeks do not coalesce into months. Years hardly matter anymore. History repeats with minor variations.
And then on Friday a longtime friend sent a photograph to me. Faces and a few names I remembered from over fifty years ago. But I did not recognize myself in the photograph. And I recalled a thought that recently came to me that my memories are beginning to be peopled by ghosts of the long or recently dead. Not a particularly original thought.
Every day is a Blip day except when I don't pick up a camera.