May 14, 2011

Took beautiful pictures of my garden on my Canon SLR, had them put on a disk by Walgreen’s, to discover that they are un-shareable, useless, imprisoned. Every attempt to save or use is thwarted by one program or another. The levels of intricacy are time-devouring and pointless. I’m like a child looking for somewhere to throw a tantrum.

The purple shrubby flower that I bought as Persian hollyhock blooms profusely, as I remember it doing all over Rome. I think if it bloomed under the Caesars it would be more often mentioned.

Tried again to see Marco, was yet again shrugged off because he was busy. He called later to say that he had a window of half an hour, forty minutes maybe if I wanted to get coffee. It is well that I didn’t answer the call. I might agree his time was that precious if he had anything to show for it. I’m done with that.

I fear sometimes that I’m a bad friend, but only when I compare myself to the friends I imagine, not to those I actually have.

Florence tomorrow, and all I can conjure is a bad mood. A little painting. A few errands. A whole lot of wrestling with electronics. Sleeping, too, as though I had climbed mountains.