We happened once, or maybe it was twice
You always make it hard for me to stop,
But you always think we’re something that we’re not
We had some fun, but now it’s gonna end
You wanna be more than just friends, I can’t go through this again
Stop tryna get inside my … Head
Don’t wanna do more than hook up,
I should’ve known, but I forgot
That you think we’re something that we’re not
You’ve got a heart as loud as lions so why let your voice be tamed?
Amazed that I first heard Part I of this song in a McDonalds in Florence a year ago. Fell in love with that version, and in love with this version as well. Thousands of miles away, still affected by the same things.
You fall. You don’t want to. Maybe you don’t even like this person, but you can’t help yourself. You fall for something. You fall for the way they feel on top of you, the way the moon comes in through the drapes, the way it feels to be held after so long of not being touched at all. There is something there that takes you in, that blurs your senses, that heightens your expectations, that makes you want something you were certain you didn’t come for. The feelings come, and you’re not even sure what kind of feelings they are, but you know you can’t get rid of them. A few days later, you’re checking your phone. Maybe not for them, but for someone. You’ve got the itch, and you know what did it.
It’s waking up next to someone and only seeing the outline of them under the sheet, imagining what the rest of them must look like in the broad daylight. It’s being pleasantly surprised or completely disappointed, but spending the rest of the day lingering in a memory of what happened last night. Maybe you didn’t fall for this one, but you fell back into something. And what’s worse, now you want to find the one who really will make you fall. You want to trip headfirst into something and fight to escape it like a pool of sticky molasses.
There’s nothing dirty about it, no, but there is something complicated. There is something which demands more of you, which implicates you, which makes extricating yourself a more involved ordeal than slipping on your tennis shoes and catching the train. Maybe you’ll leave, but part of you will still be there, hiding under the blankets, taking in the smell of the pillow. You’re not sure what you left there, exactly, but you don’t even think you want it back. We leave our fingerprints all over things like a child who denies having stolen the chocolate but whose face is covered in it.
We say “It’s just sex,” but we know that’s bullshit. When it is just sex, it’s a placeholder for something better. It’s an imitation of something, a spoonful of aspartame when we want sugar. When we want it to be something more, it’s a guilty pleasure. It’s something that we take in greedy handfulls because we’re not sure when we’ll get it again.
You fall. There is something that takes you over, something that inhabits you from within. There is the you that exists as an independent entity, and the you who is heavily under the influence of sex. And maybe you are one of the chosen ones who can elude the emotional attachment entirely, who can leave things in a neat, folded pile where you found them when you are done. Maybe slipping out the window is as natural to you as slipping your underwear back on. But there is something there that has given in, something that remembers. Something that realizes the immense honor it is every time someone presents us with their naked, insecure bodies and says, “Take this.” There is a part of you that knows this was special, and a gift, and should not be taken for granted. There is a part of you that is still observing the crack in the ceiling and wondering if they’re ever going to spackle it.
“No,” you think, “They probably won’t fix it. But I shouldn’t bring it up — I don’t really know them, after all.”
Last year a client called asking for another copy of their wedding images as they had recently moved and lost the disc of photos. Luckily, due to my paranoia about losing images, I was able to send them another disc. This year a fellow photographer posted on Facebook that a client contacted her many years after the wedding asking if they could get another copy of their wedding photos as they had lost the original disc of images. Sadly, those photos were no longer available. Just this past week, another client contacted me asking for a copy because they also lost their original disc. Having shared these stories, other photographers jumped in with their own versions of the same. These stories are in stark contrast to tales from an earlier era of people grabbing photos as they were running out of their burning house. This got me thinking. Do photographs in a digital age have less meaning?
I’m not that old but I still remember a time when albums filled with photographs were proudly displayed and shared. After a loved one had passed, it was family and close friends pouring over images scattered on the floor, sharing stories, deciding who would be the best person to take the responsibility of keeping the family albums. Envisioning a future where everyone is holding their own tablet swiping through the deceased’s random images of food doesn’t have the same sense of closure.
Have photographs become too disposable? Something you share on social media for everyone to see but then just as easily forget as someone else posts an even newer photo. The measure of a photo no longer being how personal it is or the memories it recalls but rather how many people “like” it. With so many ways to share, post, pin, tag and send images have we lessened the value of photographs?
With the transient nature of digital photographs, it stands to reason we would be more careless in storing them, even our most important ones. There are so many informal ways to post photographs yet we never take the formal process to back up those cherished memories. Since photographs are constantly shared, there is a false sense of security that those photos will always be around. Some nebulous belief they are housed on a website indefinitely for us to retrieve at our future convenience. If we believe our images to be important, why the disconnect in how we safeguard them? Paradoxically, I think it’s the ease of backing up data that makes us less likely to do it.
Backup is now just as easy as dragging and dropping folders. In many cases, our computers do it automatically for us. Because of this ease, it’s just one more tiny unimportant detail that is easily put off. We schedule time for things that take time, but not always for things that are important. Another reason I think people are careless with backing up their photos is because of the storage media itself. People see the disc or hard drive and see it as just that, an inanimate impersonal object, where as when we look at a photograph the significance is obvious and the emotional connection immediate.
At minimum, you should have a second copy of your photos on a separate hard drive. Update the storage as technology changes. Give a copy to your loved ones even if they don’t know what to do with it. Let’s not forget that websites lose their appeal and disappear, businesses close and technology changes. As those things are slowly forgotten don’t let your most cherished memories suffer that same fate.
Definitely have been thinking about t his since my phone was stolen … #wah #memories #BYE
"I wanted him to know what it felt like to lose me," she says. "To feel the consequences of that." She figured she’d never want to see him again after what he did. "So when that shit came back" – meaning love – "it hit me like a ton of bricks.Like, God, you’ve got to be kidding right now. But I got real with myself, and I just couldn’t bury the way I felt.”
at this point, I should figure out what I actually want. I don’t think I can even remember the last time I sat down, told myself I wanted something, and then set forth on a plan to get it. Not just, “I want a smoothie today” or “I think I’ll buy concerts tickets today”. Something that takes more than 5 seconds to decide on and the swipe of a credit card.