Stiletto one

The past 14 months have been a more or less continuous withering away of my connections to my own life. At this point, I'm not sure of my own sanity anymore. I could probably work my way through it all (patience, eh?), but I just don't have any good reasons (or excuses?) to bother. I don't feel like I'd be particularly missed, and I don't feel like anything in particular matters anyway. I'm replaceable.

Beyond that, I could write a long and rambling note, boring some to tears and making some feel horrible, but...fuck it, you know? This is for myself, not some kind of statement.

I'm looking at my camera, and I can't help but think of it as a symbol of my own state. So much optimism a few years ago, now it's dinged and battered and doesn't even power on right a lot of the time. It can still capture beauty, now and then, but it's harder than it should be, and sometimes missed altogether because the camera can't do it anymore.

I've opened up my Photobucket. There's a lot of random in there, but just about every picture I've ever taken (and a bunch that I saved) that I thought was worth anything will be in there, somewhere. Access password is "cheshirecat".