Montage Monday

I am rather scatterbrained today. I want to do a thousand different things so as a result I am not able to do much of anything. I feel like inside me is a gleaming ball of light moving so quickly it only leaves glowing remnants. Perhaps that will explain how disjointed this blog will be.

This past weekend I have been trying to wade through my old studio. I can only go for about an hour before I want to pound my head against a wall. I am not exaggerating when I say I would prefer giving blood or visiting the dentist than go through the things I have amassed. I am half-convinced that I have some disease that makes collecting a compulsion and throwing away a torturous and painful occurrence. Somehow I imprint way too much significance, emotional meaning and memory onto objects. Much like some cultures believe a soul can be captured in a photograph, I think I may place a little of myself in the objects which I live with day in and day out. I do know I displace how I feel about a person into something they have to given me. I am not properly able to express how I feel to them, so I hold on and treasure something that represents them to me. I am getting better at letting go, but the process is no less agonizing to me. I realize others don’t understand how overwhelmed and lost I feel at these times. They perhaps are not swallowed up by the mundane and I envy them. I have no talent for all the details involved in living.

One of the positive aspects of organizing and sorting accumulated junk is the discovery of misplaced beloved trinkets. In one box that probably dates from 2001, I found high quality color copies of old photographs not used in a scrapbook project. I am going to share some of those photos as for once I did not get that sick, leaden feeling upon seeing my own face. I wasn’t the prettiest or cutest kid out there, but I think I show some spunk in my pictures. Here are a couple of pictures for your viewing pleasure. I believe I was around 4 years old on a trip in Colorado. I was much more stylish in those days than I am now.

Lastly, in my new quest for openness I am going to share something I would usually keep to myself. Harli goes in for her yearly teeth cleaning tomorrow which means she will be put under and there is always the possibility she won’t regain consciousness. Every year I go through facing Harli’s mortality and my anxiety is intensifying with each passing year. Harli is old and my time with her is waning. To tell you the truth, dear reader, I am not sure how I will be able to handle her death. Harli may be the only living being to love me wholeheartedly. Tonight, at least, I will be sticking by my little pup and she, I imagine, will love all the treats I give her although not by being smothered with hugs and kisses.