Welcome back to the way it was.

I watched a part of a pretty bad movie last nite; and Shirley McClaine was in it and at one point in the movie she said, "If you haven't been through a divorce, you haven't lived." It stopped Jennifer Aniston's character dead in her tracks. At another point in the movie J. Aniston is swept off her feet by her own father and they have sex and he asks her to break up with her fiance to spend an extended fling with him in the California Wine Country. I fell asleep so I don't know what she decides, but you know they weren't married, let alone divorcing, yet that sounds like living some kind of life to me. I think I've "lived" lived a decent amount so far. I remember every passion and the accompanying confused, maybe-irresponsible choices that tumble out when they are played upon. I remember every break-up I've ever been through. But that was before I took pictures. I will remember today. But maybe I will remember today more like the story my pictures tell than the way it actually went down. It was a weird day, but all at once, it was rather the same, but then while simultaneously being the same in dimension and appearance it was confusingly weird and wholly unclassifiable in terms of any other day I've ever "lived."

Hospital Heart