2005 seemed to be a year where hot and cold may have averaged out to tepid, but no one time ever quite felt that way--kind of like the old sink taps that burn one hand and freeze the other. Deaths and disappointments and failures on the one hand and friendships, adventure and discovery on the other. In 2005 I figured out I could go to Sox games alone, that the community of people I met through the Remy boards would always be there--and they are, in person and online. (Special end of the year thanks to the wonderful people at the Irish pub in Fenway—I hope you're there again next year!) And I may have found an odd niche as Mark Bellhorn's unofficial photographer and media archivist, but I've enjoyed every minute of that, and despite not being a terribly good photographer I think I got some pretty decent shots of the Sox all round.
Then again, I'm not sure I got too far past the same things that always defeat me: doubting myself and accepting certain limiting things I believe about myself to be true even though they may be false.
I'd have written something here about being unhappily single, but having just watched an Animal Planet show with long segments on breeding giant pandas, including a couple of years of failed attempts ("They're having some problems with positioning" as the male tumbles over the female, or later, "She's backing into him--she's interested--but he's not interested. He'd rather eat" ending with the resolution of "We're going to anaesthetize 'em both and we'll do this with technology..."), I have a certain amused philosophical attitude right now that I don't always have. ;)
I have the support of the people who mean the most to me, of course. And I've already begun my plan to DO things in 2006 with an ambitious travel schedule, including trips to spring training in Peoria, Ft. Myers and Philly (not that, you know, I'm trying to redirect my frustration and loneliness into a quixotic quest to follow Bellhorn and the Sox--no, nothing like that...). I had a fitness evaluation done at Sargent to get a more specific handle on where I am and what I need to do physically; flexibility will need to be my focus for 2006 and onward. I would like to take a class in something; either CCAE or BCAE had a class called "Website Design for Photographers" which seemed like it ought to be subtitled "Hey, sittingstill--listen up!" Then again, a class in Photoshop Elements wouldn't hurt either--or possibly a photography class, although I suspect the result of that might be a renewed lust for another camera. You know, a business investment, as I work on my book, Mark Bellhorn and Me: A Photographer's Journey.
A reminder for 2006:
Plea from a Cat Named Virtute
Why don't you ever want to play? I'm tired of this piece of string. You sleep as much as I do now, and you don't eat much of anything. I don't know who you're talking to-I made a search through every room, but all I found was dust that moved in shadows of the afternoon. And listen, about those bitter songs you sing? They're not helping anything. They won't make you strong. So, we should open up the house. Invite the tabby two doors down. You could ask your sister, if she doesn't bring her Basset Hound. Ask the things you shouldn't miss: tape-hiss and the Modern Man, The Cold War and Card Catalogues, to come and join us if they can, for girly drinks and parlor games. We'll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets, and later maybe you could try to let your losses dangle off the sharp edge of a century, and talk about the weather, or how the weather used to be. And I'll cater with all the birds that I can kill. Let their tiny feathers fill disappointment. Lie down; lick the sorrow from your skin. Scratch the terror and begin to believe you're strong. All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV, and frankly that thing doesn't really interest me. I swear I'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood if you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating since the day you brought me home. I know you're strong.