The next subject to shoot in this challenge is water. Since I couldn’t be bothered, I shot a manhole whose dents retained some rain water (and a lot of dirt). Admit it though: doesn’t the manhole look sort of picturesque?
I’m so kidding. First, you naturally don’t need to know what I’ve been up to, and second, I haven’t even been up to anything in particular. The following uneventful events have happened:
I can now break down an AR45. This is ironic because I’m pacifist. I learned this very dubious skill when translating a manual on how to disassemble an AR45. Of course, in an ideal world, I’d never be translating this because I don’t have a clue about the subject. Also, in an ideal world, I’d reject this job on moral grounds. In the real world, though, my bills don’t give a shit about my high moral ground. Shoot me.
I’ve been freezing my ass off. Literally. I probably shouldn’t wear thongs in winter. I don’t mean flip flops. But I want to have nice panties in case of my sudden decease. I’ve already drafted a parting note saying, I told you so. I’ve set up a heater next to my heater (see picture) and keep both at full blast. The mounted heater on the wall isn’t heating, bastard, because it’s probably broken and I’m too anxious to call service. Serve me right.
I can’t remember when I last left the flat. I haven’t been out forever. Partly because of anxiety (when in doubt, blame it on anxiety) and partly because of the fucking freezing rainy weather. I’ve crafted a voodoo doll of the weatherman and use it as a pincushion. The weather forecast keeps on forecasting mayhem for in(de)finitely.
I’ve been getting high on sleeping pills. A sleeping pill is probably not your first go-to option for getting high. It works wondrously for me though. I carelessly took the pill before my evening bathroom routine instead of after, and while I was swaying around so I could hardly find the bed, I had such a great laugh. Don’t ask me what I was laughing at. Probably myself. I’m hilarious, right?
Prompt two of this photo challenge discriminates against challenged people who can’t or won’t go out. I can but I won’t. I did though. Especially to fulfil this task, I left the flat and shot the nearest random street, which is the subject keyword for today.
I can’t get enough of challenges. I should challenge myself not to accept any challenge for, say, thirty days. On second thought, that seems excessive. I shall not accept any challenge for the next thirty minutes.
I’m done with WordPress’s photo challenge Developing Your Eye part II, so I subscribed to the prequel, part I. I’ve received the first few prompts now and they fiercely amuse me. They are so, how to put it nicely—dumb?
Don’t even consider joining this anti-challenge unless you’ve never attempted to take a photo in your life. Task one is to locate your camera, find the fire button and take a picture of what home means to you. I haven’t felt at home for many years, so instead, here’s my cat at home.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.
I’ve been really overdoing myself shooting-wise. I don’t travel, I refuse to leave the house even, so my scope of subjects for taking pictures is extremely limited. I accept the challenge though and can be found these days wandering around my two rooms and snapping everything.
My sleeping pill is taking long to kick in, so I fingered a poem on the WordPress mobile app. It was horrendous. Both using the app and the poem. I think I’ve broken a finger or two.
Also I just shot the shot below from the app, zero editing. I can’t see how people can use the mobile app for posting stuff. I’m pissed off with it and this stupid idea of posting a pseudo poem hasn’t helped my sleeping at all. Eff that.
I have a number of selves. It doesn’t particularly bother me but my psych says something about mixed personality disorder. As long as he is pleased with himself—I guess it’s his job to call me names.
He calls me the wrong names though. I’d expect more of an educated person. He insists on addressing me with my academic title, except, as most people, he gets it as mixed up as my personality disorder. Once for all, an MA title is lesser then a PhD title and the correct address is a fucking doctor, not master (the prefacing four-letter word is optional).
I would never admit it to my psychiatrist (lest he should come up with an extra diagnosis for it), but two of my selves regularly engage in passive-aggressive arguments. My emotional self oftentimes seeks help from my rational self, and my rational self is being a jerk (so is my emotional self). Examples below an irrelevant picture.
Emotional self: I’m freezing. Rational self: Wrap up. Emotional self: But I’m freezing! Rational self: What exactly do you want from me? Emotional self: Help. And a kitten. Rational self: Stop wasting my time! Emotional self: I hate you!
Emotional self: I’m feeling exhausted. Rational self: You’re not. It’s psychosomatic. Emotional self: Don’t dare tell me how I’m feeling! My therapist says all feelings are valid. Rational self: I’m just saying your valid feelings are psychosomatic. Emotional self: Shut up.
Emotional self: I can’t focus. Rational self: So focus. Emotional self: But I don’t want to. Rational self:Irrelevant. Emotional self: I want to die.
My preferred mobile photo editing app, Snapseed, got a makeover. I hate it because they shuffled the buttons and now I can’t find a thing. I love it because they added filters. Filters! *happy dance* Scratch that. I’m neither happy nor do I dance. Ever. Here are some happy colourful filtered photos instead.
I get freaked out easily. (Thanks, anxiety.) I get startled by my phone beeping (yes, I realise it’s a common feature of phones), by the cat sleep-whining (I never know whether she’s having a good dream or a bad dream and whether I should wake her up), by a car door being slammed (which is all the fucking time because I live next to a frequented post office).
I’m currently freaking out about my blog. Not that there’s anything wrong with it (well, yeah, it’s all wrong, but that’s old news) but things are getting misaligned on it. My footer widget area couldn’t take any more of my Instagram photos and decided to throw them up all over the place. This is very bad. My OCD disapproves strongly. I know it’s probably one of these things that get fixed on its own, but uh. Look:
That’s not all though! I have a huge request for you. If you’re not following me, please don’t do it. If you are following me, please don’t unfollow me (I know you’re tempted but pretty please, mind my mental health). My follower counter reached 2K, and it is a good number. I like the look of it. So if you would, just don’t mess with it, ok? Because it looks so nice. Makes my OCD almost forget the Instagram widget fuckup. Almost. Look how pretty 2K is: