Pull The Sheets Up, I Don’t Have Sheep Ready
The other day I had a clear idea what the next Coffee With Jay would be about. I even had the appropriate photo selected. I knew I would wake early on Monday and crank it out, coffee in hand, the pleasant chirping sounds coming from the little park outside my flat wafting up to the third floor patio. That was the plan until he showed up. You know him (or her) (or them) (or it). Mr-He-She-It-Madam-Godzilla-teams-up-with-King-Kong, Insomnia.
At 6 am I woke from not sleeping; wrecked. And the idea for the next Coffee With Jay lay somewhere Under Rug Swept along with the 21 Things I Want in a Lover. (Number 1, a kiss of--if not death--at least 6 hours stone cold slumber.
So I regrouped. Spread some goup on my face to protect it from the sun, gathered up my laptop, decided today I needed a walk before I could form a thought. Arrived at Starbucks, the singular person there at 9 am (Colombia is not an early morning type of place) (I know at 2 am someone was still singing karaoke down the street somewhere) (I know at 3 am and then at 4 am I got up to see if I could still hear them, thinking both times, why is it necessary to see if I could hear; couldn't I just hear to see if they were the reason I couldn't sleep?)
Some the reasoning behind my somnambulance is my new found trajectory to, well, see if anyone is still interested in reading and looking at my stuff: And deciding at my age I have to do something since I'm too young to be retired and too old to punch a clock. At least a clock that every day would remind me what the hell am I doing giving my last stretch of active years to returning lumber and plastic pipe fittings from rude entitled contractors that insist they have a Trump Pass and don't need a receipt-- just believe them that they bought Bigly yet only needed materials that fit in their small hands.
I spent hours last night trying to figure out how to automate the uploading of my posts on Facebook and Instagram. The same error message greeted all my attempts: "You Are a Big Fat Idiot!" I saw those words swim before my eyes on the tenth try, then; "Evan Ranft , (an Atlanta photographer-YouTube -vlogger) is Way Sexier in Tight Jeans, Does it Even Matter if He Knows How to Take a Photo?" greeting me on the twentieth try. I had a bowl of oatmeal and bit very carefully the slivered almonds I added; God forbid I broke a tooth when just the other day I accepted the fact to grow my audience I was going to have to show my gray ass soon on YouTube.`
At six am after a few minutes of give-it-up sleep, I opened the laptop one last time and said, "No way am I going to lose this battle." Ten minutes later the code was broken; success. But wrecked.
So I ambled out to Starbucks with the intention that a coffee would at least wake me long enough to write this. Upon arriving, though, I changed my mind and ordered a iced black tea with no sugar. I received a tall plastic cup of pale tan liquid with two pieces of rapid melt cubes swimming hopelessly in sweet enough to break the teeth I successfully foiled almonds of hours before. I know I said to the barista, "Black tea, please, lots of ice and sin azucar (no sugar). She nodded and decided for me what I would get.
So what does this have to do with photography? Well, everything actually. I didn't sleep because of photography, I feel less than because of the photography of others, I don't remember what photos I had decided to share today, I'm drinking a tea which is just a cup brimming with the sin of sugar; for some reason after years of never opening the app, I shoot a cluster of photos using Hipstamatic and letting it decide what my photos will look like to accompany this post.
Now comes the hard part. Remembering how to upload several pictures at once onto my web site. With eyes struggling to stay open. Hoping I don’t do a faux pas and upload photos of Evan Ranft I pilfered from his Instagram.
CLICK THIS PICTURE TO GET MY FREE EBOOK. I WROTE IT WHEN I WAS WIDE AWAKE TO LIVING THROUGH ANOTHER BAD DECISION.
