Weekly Photo Challenge: Beloved Kitty

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Beloved.

 
I recoiled in horror as I beheld the prompt for this week’s challenge. It’s been here before a thousand times and it doesn’t allow as much manoeuvring space as many other prompts. I’ve responded to this question earlier and my answer remains the same. Cat.

Well, this wasn’t much of a challenge. Giddy up, guys, and come up with something nice next time! Say, Hated? That’d probably inspire me. Not to a hateful post, but to an inspired post in which I’d actually have to do some thinking. This one I’m posting while asleep.

I Have a New Psychiatrist (That’s My Life Now)

My old psychiatrist retired (probably to devote himself full-time to his drinking hobby) and was replaced by a new psychiatrist. Unlike the old guy, the new lady is less than a hundred and doesn’t appear to have a drinking problem (good for her).

I bear no grudge against her (yet), but as per usual, I’ve been quite passive-aggressive at our first date. She surely hated me at first sight, which is only right and mutual because I hate people by default. This might explain my passive-aggressive tendencies.

My new psych person had the old psych person’s office completely cleared, so now she practises in a large and mostly empty room. I’m scared of open spaces, so here you go. Also, she brought in a new table and positioned it in the wrong place. I’m OCD, so here you go again.

I tried hard to conduct myself, so I didn’t point out that she ruined everything for me. (She even moved the nurse’s station to the wrong wall, and nothing will ever be the same.) We had the following largely disappointing conversation.

Psych: So, how have you been feeling?
Me: (What I thought: That’s a question beneath your profession. If I were feeling anything else than poorly, I wouldn’t be here, right? Elementary, doctor.) What I said: Poorly. (What I didn’t add: But I accept that it is what it is and I let it go, as my positive affirmations have me believe.)

Psych (staring at me): You look anxious.
Me (staring in a wall behind her): (What I thought: Right, that’s because I have anxiety, just check my bloody chart, duh.) What I said: Yes.

Psych: What about we try increasing the antidepressant dose?
Me: (What I thought: Whatever. It’s not like I’m a doctor. Oh, wait. I am a doctor. Whew.) What I said: Okay.

Psych: And what do you do?
Me: (What I thought: Ow fuck, now we’re going to chit-chat? As a doctor, you should know that it’s not what I do but how I deal with it. Also, don’t try to outsmart me. You’re no match for my intellectual arrogance.) What I said: Work from home.

Psych: You don’t talk much, right?
Me: (Nothing. Why state the obvious.)
Psych: OK, so see you in a month.
Me: (If I live to see the next month.) OK.

I guess I’m not a very amiable person. Actually, I’m sure of that because I spend a lot of time with myself and I hate every second. I’m such an annoying little smartass. Currently on more antidepressants than before, so we’ll see.

A Snap a Day Non-challenge

My reblogs of my own Instagram snaps seem to be among the posts which you hate the least, so I’m continuing with this non-challenge and presenting another week’s worth of crappy snappy shit (I know that this dubious phrase makes no sense, but that’s suitable for a non-challenge).

Jan 22: Went to Tesco. Was colour-coordinated. That’s how exciting my life is.

Jan 23: It’s fucking freezing and I don’t understand how the water hasn’t turned into ice. The world is not what it used to be. 

Jan 24: My old yoga mat is disintegrating and disgusting. I bought a new one. I haven’t used it yet. I have this curious mental block which doesn’t prevent me from buying new things but does prevent me from using them. What the actual fuck. Sorry for the swearing but it’s spot on here.

Jan 25: I’ve been waiting in vain for my ballots for presidential elections. Nothing arrived and then I was told that this time I’d be getting ballots on the spot. Which I did. I could’ve spared myself the trip, the wrong candidate won. 

Jan 26: Proof that I bothered to go voting. Never again. See above. A nice walk though. 

Jan 27: My anxiety levels are breaking records and I’m unsuccessfully trying to counter with meditation. Nice try.

Jan 28: I had this obsessive thought that there was a gas or water leak, so I descended in the cellar of the building to examine. Thanks for the trip, anxiety. Nothing is leaking anywhere. So, good news, I guess. I need to go check again though.

 

My Perfectly Average Silhouette

WordPress’s Daily Post is being clairvoyant today. The prompt of the day is silhouette, which I noticed just after posting a snap of my own meagre silhouette on Instagram.

Relating to this photo and at other occasions, I’ve had curious discussions with people about my height. It’s no huge surprise that different parts of the world are populated with people of different heights, but I was a bit surprised that North Americans tend to regard me as tall. What the heck? It must be my slight built that’s misleading.

https://www.instagram.com/p/Beap69HhwAN/?taken-by=maraeastern

I checked some rough stats and confirmed that my height is perfectly average for my part of the world. And by perfectly, I mean perfectly, I’m right at the average (okay, so almost right there, I’m 0.78 mm/0.03 in off). You can check out the stats on Wikipedia, if you’re interested, but what I’m trying to point out is that an average US woman is 161.8 cm (5 ft 3 1⁄2 in), while an average Czech female, me, is 167.22 cm (5 ft 6 in).

I’m right where I’m supposed to be, height-wise, and I’m not only not tall, but even sufficiently short to be perceived by the average Czech male (180.31 cm / 5 ft 11 in) as tiny.  That much to statistics.

I’m an Asshole (and a Fire Hazard)

Currently in depths of depression slash anxiety, earlier today I was considering slashing my wrists but as per usual, I reconsidered because I don’t have my hair and nails freshly done and we must consider the feelings of those who find my body. Sorry for this killer intro, but it’s important to establish that I’m even more unbalanced than my normal unbalanced in order to gain insight into my following actions, which, I promise, are quite amusing (unless you’re the one taking the actions, of course, but that only makes it the funnier for you).

Working wasn’t working out for me today, so I resorted to the consolation of my disconsolate blog and checked out my notifications. (On a side note, if you’re anything like me [I hope for your own sake you’re not] and love tinkering around with new nifty features, go ahead and take the new post notification option in the Reader for a test ride.) So here I am, reading the comments on my blog and finding a note from Ellen, who expressed a mild interest in my curious capability of pulling a poem out of three random words. On this note I noted that the next thing I know, I’ll be pulling a poem out of my ass.

I thought to act on this dubious promise (threat?) and to gather inspiration, I went to check out my ass in the mirror. Kidding. I went to empty my ashtray, which is what I call a jar with a lid sitting at my balcony, which I religiously fill up with butts (not butts as in asses but butts as in, you know, butts). I usually throw the whole thing out when it’s full, but I’ve run out of jars, hence I had to keep the jar and relieve it of its contents only. I did this, on which I realised I’m such an asshole.

My anxiety agrees with this evaluation. I’m not only an asshole, I’m also a fire hazard. I emptied a jar full of fag ends into the dust bin, which obviously contains flammable materials. What if one of the dead fag ends wasn’t entirely dead and ended? What if I burn the building down? (And in case I don’t, for future reference, what’s even the correct and safe way of disposing of fag ends?) Now I’m terrified, courtesy of my assholeness and anxiety, and I’m periodically going down to check whether the bin has flamed up yet. So far, it hasn’t. Doesn’t make me any less anxious. Would you believe my stupidity? Please do nominate me for the post-mortem Darwin Award.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Variations (on Branches)

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Variations.

Variations are like variables. Variables are my life these days because a) I don’t have a life, b) I’m filling in the void of my life with learning JavaScript.

Should we apply these terms on everyday life, then: Life is a variable. Death is a constant. What follows from it? Absolutely nothing, but that’s the way with most deep quotes, no?

Here are some branches.

And here is some JavaScript.

switch (status) { 
case 'live': 
console.log('I\'m alive.'); 
break; 
case 'dead': 
console.log('Game over.'); 
break; 
default: 
console.log('Vegetable status.'); 
break;
}

Weekly Photo Challenge: Variations (on Clouds)

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Variations.

Ben Huberman of WordPress says variations, thinking of music (and cheese). I hear variations, and think of poetry (and permutations). Poetry shall be the easier of the two.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
—Louis MacNeice

I don’t entirely share the poet’s fascination (bordering on intoxication) but the drunkenness of things being various stuck with me for reasons unknown and unimportant.

Also, it’s clear that the poet is a poet: he can’t even eat a tangerine! Normal people don’t spit the pips but swallow. It’s easier that way. And smart people don’t buy tangerines with pips.

Anyway, here’s a picture of variations on clouds.

My Week on Instagram

Hey, I have some crappy photos on my Instagram, so why not slap them here? (That was a rhetorical question.) Each photo represents one day in the last week. (Be advised that I have no life, hence my photos are no photos.) For explanations, even duller than the photos, see captions.

15 Jan: A business trip. A photo that says more than thousand words nothing but proves that I rose to the occasion, got up and got dressed. Also, see my nails. I didn’t #wakeuplikedis, I had to paint them. Extra effort.

16 Jan: The first proper snow of this winter came in the week when it was my turn on the building’s chore wheel. Convenient. Not. I probably should’ve shovelled the shit but, instead, I waited a few days for it to thaw. Problem solved.

17 Jan: I found neither peace nor anything else during my meditation, however, I still have painted nails and these cute yoga pants on top of it. 

18 Jan: Breaking in a new candle. It smells vaguely of mulled wine. Give me a candle anytime and I’ll burn the world down (the same when you give me mulled wine). I wonder if candle lovers are closeted pyromaniacs. 

19 Jan: I must’ve been watching too much Breaking Bad because whenever I see a powdered substance, I want to snort it. Also, this is magnesium and I swear it’s the best placebo I’ve ever had because it helps me shake less when I’m anxious. Which is all the time, duh.

20 Jan: The ultimate cat box. A perfect fit for your cat. Order a yoga mat now and receive your gratis cat box! A fun note: I haven’t tried my new yoga mat yet and am still using the old one because I believe I don’t deserve nice things. Yeah, I know.  

21 Jan: The fucking chore wheel has been haunting me all week. Sunday looked like the deadline for cleaning the building. So I was sweeping cigarette butts (not my own), stray tinsel (not my own) and dead tree needles (not my own). It’s not like I have to dispose of dead bodies, I don’t know why I hate doing this so intensely. 

Weekly Photo Challenge: (The Sound of) Silence

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Silence.

The prompt of this week’s challenge is inspiring me to multiple responses. Which is probably counter-intuitive because the prompt ask literally for silence. Here you go.

Random Suggestions Poetry

I’ve been fascinated with the relatively recent feature of the WordPress Reader: the Suggestions that show at the top, just above the feed. What’s so curious about them is:

1. I often have no idea what the suggested keywords mean. Homesteading? Sous vide? Come on, don’t swear at me! Don’t tell me what that is though, I already Googled and confirmed that I’m highly uninterested in these subjects.
2.  The suggestions are extremely random. I would’ve thought that as all other advertising (which is what suggested content really means), the keywords would be personalised. I don’t think they are, otherwise I couldn’t have been offered Homeschooling, Politics and Toddlers, all of which I intensely don’t care about.
3. The whole thing is so hilarious! I waste time taking the three words suggested and using them in a poem or something. Like the thing below, which incorporates my latest incongruous suggestions of Beauty, yoga and Batman.

Beauty, yoga, batman 

Beauty is—not a thing
But if it were
   real

It would be
   me
With my arms up
   in a flying V
In the position
   of a tree

Doing yoga
Flying—
Like a fucking
Batman