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Journal

August 26th, 2016

Hello Readers, 

I haven't really felt like writing. 

That's the problem with depression; sometimes you have to sit and let dishes pile up in your room until you're out of forks. Sometimes you realize in the middle of marathoning whole tv series on netflix that you should probably work, or shower, but you don't feel up to the task of even getting out of bed. 

It becomes a little bit more difficult when you work for yourself, so there's less of a threat looming over you, to scare you into working, but it's still there. I've been doing my best to juggle necessary work with necessary I-can't-care-let-me-just-lay-in-bed. Giving that space to heal and to do nothing is hard, but right now I need that. 

I'm sad, friends. I miss a person on the other side of the world, and the place I just left. I'm not happy, and I don't know where to turn or what to do with myself. 

I did have a very good time at Woodhull; I hope to write about that soon if I can surface long enough to put together a sentence that isn't incentivized by money that will pay my rent and feed me. 

What I have been doing is looking at some of my newly developed film. I took random film to get developed and was returned images of my roadtrip with Bex, Girly Juice, and Taylor--some in NYC, others in Chicago and Minneapolis and Toronto. I also received some frames from Israel. 

I am a nostalgic creature, but due to some childhood health issues, I have relatively poor memory recall. Thankfully, items or images can pull memories out of the murk of my brain. In the past, I hoarded scraps of paper and old notebooks and garbage, essentially, in every free space of my childhood room. Now, I've been using photography to fill that need. 

Sometimes the memories are sensations, other times it's images, but part of my love for photography, and film photography in particular, is the ability to pull me back into a moment and immerse myself in it. 

Film is particularly good at this; it's not so immediate, and so much more a limited resource in comparison to digital. This somehow feels like a necessary part of the ritual; part of that is choosing the film, holding it undeveloped, in wait. The mechanical nature of loading, more or less depending on the camera and film being used. Waiting for perfect moments to snap a frame, not wanting to waste precious frames. Then having to carry the finished film with me until I can develop it, and waiting for the images to come back. It's my ritual of remembering. 

Caitlin_Caitlin-R3-E067.jpg

I want to go back to this moment. Walking up steps in old Rosh Pina, which is in northern Israel. I can remember the smells, the sounds of goats and rustling leaves and a small brook behind me. I remember how I felt. 

I want to go back and curl up in a nook in the old stones and pretend I've been there, just like that, for centuries. 

Until next time, 

C