rain with a side of rolling thunder

You give a man a gift of his words in your handwriting staring back at him. I take a picture. It is more and more becoming a strange ritual as if I want to put the camera down and not use it in some type of religious fast. Don't I have enough to last me the next twenty-four hours? How 'bout I just spectate? Say less.

So many words, video, eleven hours of audio, an entire day spent, weeks, a month, forever doing a whole lot of complaining is what it sounds like. I get tired and ill and my back hurts like I'm eighty and I wake up and make the coffee at 12:30 and then I listen as the water hits the tin and the thunder rolls in. 

And I tell myself, "Be grateful."

I am.