I can't do anything right.

I was the first presenter at the flyshop's first fly tying club meeting. I did not realize I was presenting, but when I showed up, a little late, I was introduced as, "Emo, our presenter for the evening."

I did my best to tie both interesting and effective patterns that the other folks hadn't seen before. I think they were happy with the patterns that I tied even if I was less than satisfied and felt things could have gone better.

One thing I learned from this experience is that I tie backwards. You read that right, I tie backwards. I wrap the thread around the hook the wrong way. I have since tried wrapping the thread around the hook the proper way but it feels so awkward.

While I get some satisfaction from being unique in the way I tie flies, I have been feeling really sad that this is yet another thing I am unable to do properly. Why do I have so much trouble with everything? I didn't get much sleep last night.

Will it always be like this?

I cannot catch a fish. Attached to the end of my fly line is my heart. My heart is broken. I cannot catch a fish.

Morning.

This morning was my favorite kind of morning. The sky was overcast, but the light from the rising sun was able to sneak under the cloud cover and reflect off the bottom of the clouds. This light colors the entire world in warm, yellow and reddish tones. This warm light doesn’t last long, eventually the sun is too high for its light sneak under the clouds.

These are the mornings I think, "There is a good chance the world is going to end today." I don't know why I have these thoughts, they have something to do with the warm tones of the light.

My FED rangefinder was sitting on the passenger seat of my car with half a roll of film, and I picked it up to take a couple pictures. I wanted to capture the light, but I couldn’t bring myself to snap any photos. Somehow I think that any photos, even if I could capture these tones, would diminish the experience.

The world may end today, but I am OK with that. Today will be a good day.

I am a horrible writer.

I cannot find the words to describe the way I am feeling. I am not a poet.