A steady, gentle rain falls. If you listen closely you can hear the rustle of the leaves on the big tree out back as each raindrop lands. All of the windows are open, inviting the cool and damp into this house of dusty air conditioned dryness. The back door is wide open for the breeze, liberating and casual. I've been watching too many serial killer shows on tv lately and I glance at the open door from time to time. In my dreams last night there was sex and music. The ocean. Billy was there, playing in the waves as they rolled onto the shore.

I'm listening to Mali music, watching the dog gnawing on his new bone. I'm swiffering the kitchen floor, washing the dishes. I'm drinking water with artificial berry flavor. I'm organizing my photos, removing the red eye on those I took at the party last night. Forty women dressed in pink, a surreal scene. The Positive Pink Party. I still don't understand the theme. Most women shied away from the camera, irritated by my imposition. I've become more comfortable behind the lens, less worried about the reaction I sometimes get from being the girl with the camera, in your face or across the room. I take a thousand shots of one person hoping to capture their spirit in at least one of them. My one friend has a rehearsed smile, practiced in the mirror since the disfiguring disease that left one side of her face heavy and reluctant to participate equally with the other half. She has a bigger than life personality, a loud almost-fake laugh that I love. I cannot capture her spirit because, when the camera is around her, she gives me the practiced smile of both sides of her face in perfect harmony.

I'm fascinated by the photographs that capture a personality that in reality does not exist. If you take enough photographs of one subject you will occasionally find one that depicts the person as someone he or she never truly is. How do you take a picture of something that does not exist?

Some of us sat around a fire pit out back, not minding the occasional spit from the darkness above. People often let down their guard around a fire. The intentionally projected false personas go up in smoke, people stripped bare. When this happens, I love everybody. There is always a moment in one's adult life that you are lovable, no matter how otherwise you may be the rest of the time. These moments keep me optimistic.