One of the things I love most about writing is that you can begin with nothing but a tiny fragment, put pen to paper, and let the act of writing reveal to you where it wants to go. Most of the time, I’m not in charge. The pen is its own compass point and navigates independently.
I make excellent mashed potatoes.
Unless you’re allergic to cheese or butter. Or are bothered by a horrific calorie load.
Next side project, since no knives at the last flea market: handle mod, blade mod, blade swap. Top Opinel is stainless, bottom one is carbon steel.
About to ride a crowded commuter train into Tokyo for the first time this year, a day after Tokyo’s second-highest COVID numbers. About to go spend thirteen hours at an English school and really questioning the value of this transaction.
Scouting, making test exposures. Will come back just before midnight with a bigger tripod and geared head, ready to get that shot.
Gearing up for my shot at midnight, ready to “shift” into the new year.
My girlfriend got me a new hat for my birthday, as if the old one didn’t still have plenty of life in it. Bet you can’t even tell which is which.
Time for more mending. It’s ridiculous that these jeans have fared better than most in recent years and I still have to put in a lot of effort to keep the inner thigh/crotch from totally dying on me.