One of those days

There are those days where most of it is spent doing what you must do, not what you want to do. The stuff that pays the mortgage and keeps the client/boss/higher-up/whomever happy, but otherwise feels like a prison, no matter how gilded they may be. Ain't adulthood grand?

I just had one of those days, staring at tiny cells in a giant spreadsheet, wrist deep in formulas and numerical what ifs. Actually, it's been the better part of the last couple of weeks in this numerical maze. My poor eyes are ready to quit on me and now I think what it means to have one's brain fried. Mine's over, easy.

So here now past the witching hour I'm dead beat and ready to sleep but I decide to treat my eyes (and my soul for that matter) to some photography and some stream of semi-conscious, semi-creative writing. I find comfort in photos. And words too. They've been constant companions for most of my adult life, and now in the midst of middle age and my fifth mid-life crisis (I've been having them every five years since college), I find solace in my old friends as they massage and soothe the regions of my cerebral cortex that have atrophied as of late. My creative self must have a sense of humor though, as this Pinkhassov-inspired photo also bears a striking resemblance to the cells of a spreadsheet. On meth.

The agenda for tomorrow calls for more spreadsheets. And more adulthood. Hey, you can't win them all.