Boundaries, limits, borders. Let’s see.
1. I have never felt to have sufficient boundaries. And look at me now. Who said that if a frog had wings, where the end of it would be? I’ve always felt that nobody has gotten to my wings yet. And still I refuse to fly.
2. Unlike having boundaries imposed, which I view as something external, I draw my own limits most gladly and often. I tend to speak up if I have a problem and not suffer in silence. Masochism may be a drug of the nation, but I have moved. To hedonism. Which brings us to:
3. Borders used to be much more defined, back in the days of smuggling Brooklyn chewing gum, fancy pencil rubbers and alluring deodorants. When you get to the Slovenian-Italian border now, there is nothing there except a wave of nostalgia.
4. This blog has a photo posting limit. I’m closing in on it. Not quite clear what to do.
5. My days have time limit and I have acquired too many excellent and prolific bloggers to follow. I’m terribly behind you all and it’s accumulating. It’s breaking my heart a little but I WILL make up for my slacking and come abreast. The same goes for my favourite writer and her instalment novel.
6. Where exactly is the division between a photographer and someone who takes photos? Or a writer and someone who writes? In the second case I came to observe that it might be the moment when one lets out one’s characters to play rather than having the stage just for oneself. The case of photographer is trickier. Is it when one sells the first photograph? This I did only a few times and only together with articles for magazines a long time ago. As for my characters? They are still bound. (As in: taxi drivers know their streets, whereas drivers of taxis use GPS.)
7. In the case below, the scaffolding has provided just the right inter-species boundary. And yet they caught the same kind of sleepy. (I remembered just in time that this is a photo challenge.)
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Boundaries.”