My husband shouted at me because I have too many photos. Apparently 80 gigs of pics is overkill.
Basically he is saying I am too sentimental, which means he wants me to be like him and own about two family photos.
Of course I refuse, so defiantly I went and took all my old negatives to Kodak and had them processed and scanned. Now I have about 200 gigs of photos. Yay for me.
Trip down memory lane...during one of my "I'm done with production, the hours are too demanding" moments in 2003, I took a sabbatical and decided that doing care work in the UK would be a welcome break from castings and manic advertising deadlines. UHM - did I do my research. No.
I arrived in Oxford to care for Laura and had a two day crash course. During those 48 hours I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I was petrified I would drop her out of her sling while trying to bath her, or break her neck while trying to dress her or not strap her into her car correctly and kill her as I drove around those bloody roundabouts. BUT I pushed through and managed and realised she was a tough cookie and not easy to kill. My days consisted of cooking, cleaning, weeing, pooing, bathing, dog-walking, more cooking, shopping, chatting, 6 turns at night and then repeat, repeat, repeat.
After 8 months I would just hear my name echo in my head anyway "Heatheeeeeeeer" as I slept-walked to her room to turn her again, and again and again .
After a long days work we would watch Eastenders and get hammered together and after bed time I would go and have a few fags with the garden gnomes and ponder on how little sleep I was going to get that night. I worked 11 days on, 2 days off. Tough going, but Laura was a rocking chick and I don't quite know how I survived on so little sleep with so much boozing! I was 23, that's why.
But kudos to all the care workers out there...I could only do it for about 10 months and then went back to the evidently not so demanding production hours.
Basically he is saying I am too sentimental, which means he wants me to be like him and own about two family photos.
Of course I refuse, so defiantly I went and took all my old negatives to Kodak and had them processed and scanned. Now I have about 200 gigs of photos. Yay for me.
Trip down memory lane...during one of my "I'm done with production, the hours are too demanding" moments in 2003, I took a sabbatical and decided that doing care work in the UK would be a welcome break from castings and manic advertising deadlines. UHM - did I do my research. No.
I arrived in Oxford to care for Laura and had a two day crash course. During those 48 hours I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I was petrified I would drop her out of her sling while trying to bath her, or break her neck while trying to dress her or not strap her into her car correctly and kill her as I drove around those bloody roundabouts. BUT I pushed through and managed and realised she was a tough cookie and not easy to kill. My days consisted of cooking, cleaning, weeing, pooing, bathing, dog-walking, more cooking, shopping, chatting, 6 turns at night and then repeat, repeat, repeat.
After 8 months I would just hear my name echo in my head anyway "Heatheeeeeeeer" as I slept-walked to her room to turn her again, and again and again .
After a long days work we would watch Eastenders and get hammered together and after bed time I would go and have a few fags with the garden gnomes and ponder on how little sleep I was going to get that night. I worked 11 days on, 2 days off. Tough going, but Laura was a rocking chick and I don't quite know how I survived on so little sleep with so much boozing! I was 23, that's why.
But kudos to all the care workers out there...I could only do it for about 10 months and then went back to the evidently not so demanding production hours.
