These damned pic­tures, pic­tures every­where. Stored on mem­ory cards, fixed state hard­drives, DVD’s, printed on paper and ink; viewed on a screen, a cam­era, from my mem­ory; it doesn’t mat­ter, they all serve to remind me of a rare time in my exis­tance when I was actu­ally con­tent with myself. Twenty four hours doesn’t seem that long in a life­time, in fact, it is sta­tis­ti­cally insignif­i­cant, but it was all I could grasp and fight for. Would I make the same deci­sions over again? I would with­out any sign of hes­i­ta­tion, none.

I guess I’m being a tad bit quixotic.