from a tiny spark

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

“Take These Broken Wings…” taken on December 13th, 2008

Today was spent doing… well, nothing, really.  Last night was my mother’s family Christmas party, which is always hosted here, at the house.  Not a big deal, except that there are at least 12 people in our small living room which is located right above Simon and my bedroom and living room area.  Not exactly what we wanted to listen to all night.  So we decided that we were going to pay a visit to my father and step-mother’s.  It was nice, as it always is, except that they have two dogs - which I am allergic to.

And so by the time we left last night, I had pretty much lost my voice, and my nose was blocked up and running like a babbling brook.  I ended up breaking out in a few hives, so I popped a couple Benadryl and called it a night.

I awoke this morning to a really sore throat, an awfully blocked nose, and no energy whatsoever.  Of course, this was the day Simon decides he wants to clean house and be productive.  My participation pretty much stopped at taping our Christmas cards up on the wall.

Now he can’t say I didn’t help.

I don’t want to go back to work tomorrow.  I don’t want to get up early.  This day was such a waste, and it’s my own fault for feeling awful and crappy.  At least I got our ghetto fake tree up and decorated.  It doesn’t look so bad.  At least, it looks a hell of a lot better than last year, because at least our room is nicer looking.  I’ll take a picture and post it when I’m feeling more motivated.

Right now I’m really just wanting another cup of tea and my bed.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

“The Space Between” - Self Portrait, November 16, 2008

I had decided that I didn’t want to update until I had a new image to use with the post.  And yet, now that I have an image… I can’t think of anything interesting to say.  Isn’t that always the way?  The above portrait was a result in the purchase of my comfy new thigh-high socks from a slight Target shopping spree on Saturday.  I have come to the conclusion that Saturdays after work is not a good time for me.  Because I get out of work at 4pm and I don’t have to pick up Simon until 6:30pm… and I’m stuck at the other end of the state for the afternoon (no sense in an hour drive home to drive 40 minutes back to pick him up)… I have nothing to do with my time except, well, shop.  Target is my weakness, I tell you.  I love the socks, except for the fact that my oversized thighs seem to keep them from staying up whenever I so much as shift in my seat.  I find myself hiking them up every ten minutes whenever I have to walk.  I have dubbed them my “lounging socks” for that reason… until I’ve stretched them beyond repair.

I am awaiting the arrival of my Nikon D40 Digital Field Guide that I bought with Mel’s gift card she gave me for my birthday. :D  I have a growing list of ideas I want to try with my precious D40, and yet… I have no idea how to use it.  Not only that, I have no idea what half of the settings are. I feel like such a feeble-minded idiot when it comes to photography.  My hope is to read this handy-dandy guide from cover to cover and learn as much as is humanly possible about my beautiful camera.  That paired with my Christmas gift of a remote (hopefully?) I will be able to make many of my ideas into reality.  You know what’s sad?  At night, the only thing to relax me and calm me down from the daily grind is to lay there and think of ideas of what kinds of portraits I can do.  Or what I would be able to photograph.  I get all giddy when I have a new photo to process.  It’s like my crack.

And so, with sleepiness setting in I will leave you with this: Will I ever outgrow this ongoing break-out issue on my damned face?!  I thought by the time I was closing in on my “late twenties” I would be laughing at the memories of my awkward teenage acne problem.  How the hell can I laugh at them when they WON’T GO AWAY?

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

“Silly Boys” - Self Portrait, November 1, 2008

For some strange reason halfway through tweaking my new layout, my control panel timed out and now won’t let me sign back in to try and upload the rest of the changes.  So, you’ll have to deal with seeing this half-finished product until I can fix it.  Hopefully it works properly at least.

I have been absolutely obsessed with self portraits.  Ever since I purchased my beautiful Mr. T (my tripod), I have been running around the empty house snapping random photos of myself.  I just can’t get enough of taking photos!!  So you’ll have to excuse my vanity, because to be honest - I have no one else to photograph.  Except for the cats, and they’re not very photogenic.

I have been absolutely unproductive today.  Well, I did a load of laundry.  And then I took some photos on the dryer.  And then I curled my hair.  And then I took some pictures of my curly hair.  And then I made some lunch.  And then I took some photos of myself in my mother’s room.

Are you seeing a trend here?

My fingers are ice.  I think I need to make some tea.

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

Photography has finally consumed me. Am I complaining? Not in the slightest. Simon told me I am officially addicted to DeviantArt now, and that I keep grabbing my camera and taking pictures “of the most random things.” Am I complaining? No way. It makes me smile. I finally found that spark. I look around and see things in a whole new light. I snap shots without shyness… because even if they don’t come out perfect, I can play around with them in Photoshop and make them into something worth looking at. And even if I can’t? Who the hell cares?

My problem now is that I’m running out of things to photograph around here. So, I’m asking you - my wonderful visitors - to tell me if you’d like me to take pictures of anything in particular. Whatever you may be interested in seeing. Even if it’s something mundane and ordinary… because I may be able to come up with some interesting way to shoot them. Kind of like a challenge of sorts. So, what is it? Let me know.

And now it’s after 5pm on Sunday and it’s my “Depressing Time.” The time where I realize my weekend has passed me by once again, and tomorrow I have to work. *cringe* Some days are ok, but others? I’d rather gouge my eyes out than sit at work for seven hours. Yes, only seven. And it still sucks. I’d rather just spend Simon’s birthday tomorrow home alone with him… *wiggles eyebrows*

Yeah, dreams are free, right?

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

Self portrait, 8/29/2008

So, it’s always been known that I’m not photogenic. Never have been, really. Ok, maybe not never (I’ve come across some photos that prove I had it at one point in my life)… but for as long as I can remember, whenever I would come across photographs of myself the only emotion it would provoke was a violent need to burn the evidence. I know, I know… everyone goes through the “gawky” stage of their teenage lives. There’s the awful hair, the big, dorky glasses, the outrageous wardrobe. But I felt like I was forever stuck in that stage of my life. Throughout my pre-teen years, straight through into my young-adult phase. I couldn’t escape it. And then there was the weight. I had always been skin and bones up until I hit about eighteen-years old. Suddenly, due to lack of motivation and an obese ex-fiance, I ended up going from a tiny 120lbs. to a whopping 190lbs. within a few years. So it wasn’t enough to have the awful complexion (pizza-face anyone?), and the gummy smile, but after the weight gain - whenever I saw a picture of myself, I resembled that of a beached whale. With clothes. (which, for the record, makes a beached whale look even more ridiculous.)

I couldn’t hang out with friends, because it would result in me beating myself up until I couldn’t function. Everyone was prettier. More talented. Funnier. Wittier. Why would anyone ever like me? I would go home after an outting with someone and re-play the entire event in my head, mentally kicking myself at every moment I thought was wrong. “Are you serious? You really thought that was funny?” “You should have just shut up, you talk too damn much.” “Why would anyone even notice your existence if you don’t speak. UP.”

I never thought I would ever be able to like myself (nevermind love myself). You know, you read those articles in “Self” magazine where they tell you that no matter what clothes you buy, or how much weight you lose, you’ll never be happy until you learn to love yourself for who you are. Ha! Apparently they never met me before. How could anyone - let alone myself - learn to love me? After all of that garbage, I was convinced I was doomed to be unhappy and self-loathing for life.

But somehow, it started to change. I got sick (usually not exactly the best thing to happen), which made me start to lose some weight. I didn’t even have to try… the pounds just started to shed. I started to look in the mirror and not hate what I saw. “Wow… you can wear these pants again and you don’t even have rolls. You actually have some shape. Look at you!” My skin started to clear a bit. I could get in a picture and not fear that the planet-sized zits would take over the photo.

And before I knew it… I stopped hating myself. I actually like a lot of the pictures I have of myself now. I’m not afraid to pick up the camera and play around with it in fear that I will look like a complete jackass in shots. I can actually pull of the legging look even! I can walk around not looking at my feet anymore, but straight in the faces of guys who are actually giving me looks. Like, real looks. Smiles. Waves.

And so, if you notice I have a ton of self-portraits on my Flickr account, and that some of my layouts (including the current one) feature yours truly… it’s not because I’m a vain, stuck-up bitch. It’s not because I think I’m gorgeous and the world is lucky to gaze upon my beauty. It’s because I’ve finally learned that there’s nothing wrong with me. And that I can be beautiful if I want to be, simply because I’ve stopped hating myself.

And that’s just plain awesome.