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Seems iCloud server had glitch yesterday, I didn't notice, got caught up in sorting out the iMac, someone was interested in buying it. I backed up stuff to iCloud and Time Machine and set it up for a new user. Person came in evening and bought it. A sense of relief.

Intentional memory, a thought held within the mind. And then photography comes along, two hundred years ago, and sixty years ago in my life. This pressing the button, making something vivid. As a child I may have thought photographs were a way of not having to remember in words. But I didn't know what to do with these memories, still don't know what to do with memories, my photographs, the things I keep, and the thoughts in my mind. Thinking about doing something intentionally can be a way of not doing something intentionally. Intention is odd. If I think through my last day, the last twenty four hours and try to work out what was intentional and what just happened I find it hard to remember my intentions. I think my day is full of intentions, but strangely the intentions rarely relate to what I do or think, they are vague intentions, that somehow coalesce into a day. I try to remember the day as a sequence of moments, but the day doesn't feel like a sequence, it doesn't feel like a story. The day is figments and moments. I can probably make a day into a story, but I don't think that way. If someone asked to write a story of yesterday I might consider doing that. Memory is vague, rarely intentional. My thoughts and feelings seem to be independent of my thinking mind, they are closer to my dreams, so much of life is lived with dreams. Dreams, cloudy, misty, vague. Thoughts, feelings, memory happens; my writings interpret these memories, thoughts and feelings in may different ways. Memory comes together in writings in different ways on different days. I look back over my days of writings, a month, and re-write, don't know why I write or make photographs, but it feels okay, and feeling okay probably doesn't need a reason.

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