this is not of sadness but more a bit of quiet

I thought I'd read a blog or two this evening while waiting for some footage to render. I need an emotional aerial view on the world tonight. To take time to remember the billions of lives happening right now each full of their own innumerable cares, concerns, plans––things that wake them up at night, or keep them up, or help make them happy, contented falling swiftly asleep.


I want to be an astronaut right now, just watching, observing it all––trying to grab a little piece of infinity. Stepping out of the regular mortal atmosphere and watching, just watching. Maybe I would like to have an evening of being an angel from Wim Wender's Wings of Desire (1987).


But I am extremely immanent, tied to the earth, my life and its happenings, my choosings.


It's funny that yesterday I was just listening to a discussion of Proust's madeleine, his philosophy of memory and how science now confirms his thoughts on memory. It is always a recreation, not a photographic instant stored away. 


I just learned an hour ago that I may have lost everything on the terabyte external hard drive I've been saving everything on for the last two years. My parents brought me the news and I've already cried on their shoulders––if there's a fellow film person out there, you know. You know that everything I've filmed since the beginning of July 2010 is on that hard drive. Paraguay is on that hard drive, community gardens, Common Threads, that stop motion for my friends' restaurant hopes, trips with friends, all my pictures. And even a lot from before July. That's where I stored that kindergarten documentary and its stop motion animations that I spent weeks on with Travis and Becca.


There's all my research and my typing up of my Grandma's journal and papers, etc.


I stored everything there up until the move to North Dakota. That's when something seems to have happened. I guess that was almost a year ago. It's not until this past week my dad has taken it to his expert friend to fix. It may be unfixable.


Which is so funny––so much funniness––because there have been a few times––I could probably count the number on one hand––when I've wished that I could go back and do everything over––I mean, change everything. Erase it and do something different. Maybe take the train instead of the bus that day in Paraguay. Maybe put off graduation a semester. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Which is very unlike me. I've never believed in regrets. Each time I wished it I was shocked and disgusted with myself. What sniveling behavior, honestly. And just think of the people––oh the people, there have been so many wonderful people I've met, spent more time with, developed friendships with.


And my nephew. He is the best of everything. He cannot go away.


Oh, what a confession this has been.


This is funny because the proustian and scientific idea is that memories are always changing, there's no hard data backed away and now the hard data I had backed away may be stripped of its identifiable properties and swimming around in the echo chamber of a terabyte piece of stuff.


I've had time to think about it. Had my father give me a blessing. Felt a bit more peaceful. We're still holding out for a last word. I've given a list of the extensions and formats everything should be in...they say there are services you can send these lost drives to. But, you know, I can let go if I need to.


I'll just have madeleines and tea. 


Well, maybe actually a macaroon and many glasses of milk. And some yogurt. H.B., can we have lots of delicious yogurt when I get there in a week?


Wait, less than a week. Oh what sweet blessed relief.