Sigh.

I’m sorry, folks. I’ve really had very little to say this past week or two. Writing is problematic, to say the least. I’m taking a few minutes out before work to share with you as I eat my breakfast, though, in hopes that I’ll be able to crack the nut and figure out what’s goin’ on.

I’m not worried about it, but I certainly feel like Little Miss Bad Blogger, so the guilt’s a bitch.

As you may know, I have a new job. A good one, one I feel confident will be around for a little while. It has been a massive shift in lifestyle for me in so many ways. I’m just trying to find my footing in this new world of mine, and writing hasn’t exactly been helping as I’ve been trying to write for the wrong reasons. Which works out surprisingly often, actually, but just not this time.

Creatively, I’m on pause. I’ve been trying to change that lately. Normally, I’d just go out and take some photographs in the forest or something, but my camera’s been broken. Lately, I’ve been cooking a lot of interesting dishes, including the homemade bread I’m having as toast with my coffee right now.

But Saturday, finally, I took possession of my new camera.* I got home, unwrapped it, began looking at all the sensational specs (10 megapixels, programmable scenes, manual operations including manual focus, et al!) and, I shit you not, I got teary-eyed.

Yes, I almost cried as I looked over my new camera.

You’re probably thinking I’m nuts, or else you’re thinking you get emotional when people throw wicked new toys your way, too. It’s not like that, though.

I’m a writer and a photographer. This is who I am, almost to the core, in that order. I AM a writer. I AM a photographer. I AM all about the details. I AM. When I walk around the world outside, I’m constantly looking for things I can photograph, or things that’ll inspire me with words. I am affected daily by the way things look, how they change in the light, the things people say in passing, the signs I drive by… all these things comprise minor parts in how my world unfolds day in and day out. You can’t shut that off, or if you do, it can be a pretty painful process.

I started working just over two weeks ago, and in a really cool ‘hood with some awesome heritage sites I’ve been dying to get it with a camera. But I’ve had none. (I didn’t know I was getting a new camera; I was told my warranty was rejected and the damage was my own fault, then suddenly, “Oh, you’ve been awarded a replacement” last Wednesday. Woo! Luck’s changing, babycakes. Boy, oh, BOY!)

I haven’t been able to take any pictures since early December. Somewhere in that mix, I stopped looking at the world around me. It seemed cruel to soak in the beauty and weirdness all around if I couldn’t snap a shot of it and record it in my own way. Something about photography feels like taking ownership of the beauty before you. It’s mine, and I’ll show it to you the way I like. By its very nature it’s an act of possession. It’s domineering. It’s me.

But it seems to me that any time we remove one of our loves from the picture, we lose a lot more than we’d like to admit. Tonight, I’m cancelling plans with a friend so I can stay out and take pictures. Oh, and buy a 2-gig memory card while I’m at it. (32MB? Get serious!) Can I tell you how excited I am? How little I care what anyone thinks of the pictures I’ll yield, save me? No. There are no words. Bubbly, giddy, goofy inside… that’s me on this fine morning.

Maybe taking some pictures will return me to my creative self. Maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll continue doing what I’ve been doing: start writing time and time again, only to die a painful literary death after 400 squalid little words. I don’t know. But I’ll take some pictures and we’ll see where it goes. And then I hope to write about it later tonight.

After all, part of why I’m cancelling plans is because I hope it rekindles my passion for vocab. That’s supposing I’ve lost the passion. I don’t know that I have… but maybe. After all, every now and then it gets a little weird, writing for an audience I know exists. Every now and then I remember I’m just a girl of words and for some reason, you people like reading me. And when the hits start to go up (as they have in the last two weeks, quite a bit) I start getting all panicky about performance.

Then there’s the conundrum of being a girl of words about sex but living a sexless life. Ah, and that bites. I’ve had some dates, though. Only one seemed to be the kind with potential, but the guy in question seems to be going through things at this time and the timing’s the shits, so I’m looking elsewhere. Never denying the potential that something may happen at another time, but this is not that time. Still, my options are open and I’m considering them. And one of the options I’m considering is that sex seems to outrank relationships right now, and maybe the time is ripe to change the plan.

But getting shagged senseless really does seem like only a matter of time, as well. God knows getting laid could do a little good for me. Scratch that, a WORLD of good for me. I need me some lovin’. My timing’s been lousy, but it seems to be looking up.

And in the meantime, you get what you get, I guess. For now, I’m happy things are changing for the better. I wish I was writing more, I wish I felt more comfortable letting people into my head, but, right now, I’m just finding my footing. Stay tuned for MORE befuddling adventures of Steff.

*I am the QUEEN of the Extended Warranty. New couch, new DVD, new computer monitor, new camera, new blender… When they ask you if you want the extended warranty, ask how long theirs is. Hell, I keep getting new shit three years into owning things! Fuck the cynics and their “It’s a scam” musings. I’m proof! Play your cards right, and you too can get free shit three years later! 😉