I’m continuing in my non-challenge of taking and posting a non-photo on Instagram every day. I still haven’t figured out what I’m trying to achieve, but I have patience enough, so I’ll just wait and see what becomes. While we’re all waiting for me to figure out what I’m up to, here are seven more photos covering seven more days.
I’ve been diligently taking a photo a day since the beginning of the year. It’s not like I’m doing a 365 Project. I’ve completed two and abandoned one two thirds along the way. It’s rather that I have no idea what I’m doing and I keep on posting it on Instagram.
Scroll down to view the evidence and read my elaborate photo descriptions. Or don’t, I’m not telling you what to do. I would, but no one listens to me, so I won’t. Or will I? I have decision paralysis, so decide on my behalf. Problem solved. Or not.
My holiday programme could be summed up in one word: nothing. But then I’d have nothing to blog about, so let’s elaborate.
I spent the holiday with my family: Ella, Lena, Apple, Broken Bastard and, most important, WiFi. In other words, I was home alone (plus one, that is, cat). So as not to be lonely, I was spending quality time with the cat (the above-mentioned Ella) and my favourite devices, which I named (like Robinson’s Wilson the Ball). Lena is my laptop and my bestie. Apple is the iPad with whom I have a love-and-hate relationship and only use it for reading Kindle books. The Broken Bastard is my electric heater, which is broken, hence bastard. As to WiFi, duh, self-explanatory.
My festive mood was oscillating between severely depressed and fiercely grumpy. On the Christmas Day, I was flooded with seasonal wishes on Facebook, which were mostly the identical Facebook-generated card. I soon developed a strong allergic reaction against it.
On a whim, I texted my academic colleague a customised wish: “Though Christmas is a social construct, have a good one!” She replied with happy holidays and the wish that god may bless me. That made me grumpy. How many times do I have to publicly declare that a) I’m Buddhist and don’t celebrate Christian holidays (and, obviously, don’t believe in god’s blessings); b) I’m depressed and grumpy, hence wishing me a happy anything is really a waste of a perfectly good wish.
On the Christmas Eve, I found myself digging in the Windows registry for fun. Even I considered this a twisted way to spend the holiday. So I went to reorganise my desktop folders instead. Seeing that this was not much better, I proceeded to change my phone ringtones. I was really just waiting the season out.
On the New Year’s Eve, I started to organise my work and life for the new year, obsessively filling in my several planning diaries and journals. A good try, alas, I failed in all instances. I switched on a boring radio station so as not to miss the countdown to midnight. I didn’t miss it, but it was anti-climactic. The moderator invited a charwoman to the microphone and they both dispensed their best wishes.
I tried to toast to my cat (not toast my cat as in putting her in a toaster), but she was shitting herself with fright from the fireworks under the sofa and refused to come out. And the next thing I remember is a hangover and another shitty year beginning. The cat foretold it right.
I’m particularly proud of the new year’s wish I posted on Instagram, so I’ll repeat it here: If you’re a guy, may your new year not suck. And if it sucks, may it at least swallow. (This joke I stole.) If you’re a gal, may your new year not be a dick. Actually… (This one I didn’t steal.) Well, let’s hope my new year will be a dick.
Also, I do not offer my apologies for my somewhat inappropriate sense of humour. I’m true to myself. Which is actually the moral of The Scarlet Letterby Hawthorne:
Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred!
So, this is where sex jokes and classics of American literature meet.
In the night, I listen to the sounds that the cat makes. It’s sort of soothing. Here are the sounds:
Floor creaking: the creaky old floor creaks even when my light-weight cat walks on it. There’s an element of suspense because you never know where exactly she’s heading and what she’s up to.
Radiator clinking: the old wheezy radiator makes sounds of its own, but when the cat jumps on it, there is lots of clinking as her nails hug the metal grille when she’s tiptoeing on top of it.
Soft thudding: it’s more of a feeling than a sound, but I can tell when the cat jumps on the bed or the sofa to settle there. It’s a vibrating sensation and it’s nice to see the cat is making herself comfy.
Crunching and munching: you wouldn’t believe the noise that resonates in the night when the cat suddenly starts chewing on her dry food. You can hear each pellet being crushed by her teeth.
Tongue clicking: so you think that a cat washing herself makes no noise? Wrong. She produces a variety of tongue clicking and licking and slurping noises as she processes her fur. It’s a good sound to fall asleep to.
It’s probably late for Michael’s Wot I Shot challenge. Or maybe not. To my utmost confusion, I always see Michael’s Wednesday posts on Tuesday. So why not join the Wednesday challenge on Thursday? Time zones clearly elude me.
I took and ruined Michael’s challenge by deciding to participate with the worst of my bad Instagram snaps. I mean to go on like this until Michael bans me. This time, however, I’ve noticed something curious on my Instagram.
I posted two photos after each other, one a portrait of my cat and another a portrait of myself, and we happen to be posing in the same way! The cat has her paw over her face after an exhausting day. I have my own paw over my face because I prefer not to show my face. Literally.