Favourites I have none. Wait. Regrets I have none is how the phrase goes. Except it’s not true. Of course I have regrets that the Daily Post rolled over and quit. Except— it’s more of grudge than regrets. So the opening line of this post should have been Regrets I have none, grudge I have some. Grudge I have all, y’all.
Let’s try this again. WordPress’s last Photo Challenge is on the prompt of All-Time Favourites. For a fact. I’m quite relieved, also for a fact, because I was half-convinced that the last prompt would be either dull and obvious (such as The End) and/or dumb and sentimental (such as Farewell). The Favourites prompt isn’t thrilling but is half-decent.
Except I don’t have even half-decent all-time favourites. I refuse to dig in the archives. What for? What would I find there besides old dry bones? I don’t need to go back to produce crappy photos as per my trademark.
Incidentally, for a few months at the start of this year, I was running (while refusing the fact that I was running) a self-imposed self-challenge of posting a photo a day on Instagram and then reposting them here in weekly batches. What’s interesting about it? Nothing, I didn’t say it was interesting.
I quit this thing sometime in April. I found that the idea was nice but the execution was— how to say it nicely? Shitty? That will do. While it was an excellent plan to practise mindfulness and presence and whatnot and take a photo a day, it proved increasingly difficult because I hardly ever go out. So I literally ran out of things to shoot.
Hello, are you still there? If so, good, because I just got down to the point. If not— well, good on you. You know what my point is? Nothing! I’m notorious for making the point that I have no point. In lieu of a point, here’s a mess of my Instagram pictures from April, as yet unposted on the blog.
In case you haven’t heard yet, the Daily Post is a goner. It bothers me more than it should. As we say in the second world, it’s not like bread is gonna be cheaper for that, so why care. As I hear is legit in the first world, though, one has the privilege to rant about things. Let’s do this!
Stages of Grief
I’ve gone through the five stages of grief regarding the Daily Post’s demise.
Denial (“What? Nooo—!!!”)
Anger (“Losers! Quitters! Traitors! Class enemies!” — Please note that “class enemy” is a cultural thing and it’s a bad thing to be. The worst, actually.)
Bargaining (“How hard is it to keep the thing running, huh? As Ben admits in his post on the Daily Post, WordPress servers shall be chugging along for the next 14,320,078 years, so come on!”)
Depression (“Can’t even…”)
Acceptance (“As you wish.” — That means I strongly disagree with you but currently can’t think of any means to bring you to senses.)
I even added an extra stage, just for the fun of grieving.
Resistance (“You won’t take responsibility? Fine. I’ll take it myself. In yer face.”)
Stages of Feelings
I notoriously suck at connecting with my feelings because I read on Freud’s virtues of repression in an impressionable age and it stuck. I perfected the art of not admitting to feeling anything to the point of actually not feeling anything. That is, besides a single uniform formless emotion, whose name I don’t know but which is dull and depressing. I think it’s a constant lack of will to live. Is that an emotion? I need to practise naming emotions, so let’s identify how I feel about the Daily Post’s decease.
Disappointment — I was dumb enough to form some expectations and to believe that at least over at WordPress, everything will be as it should be. That’s disappointing on so many levels. (Which I’m too lazy to describe, so trust me—and you shall be betrayed! See below.)
Betrayal — Well, I didn’t sign up for this. For WordPress quitting on me.
Guilt — I should have had more sense than to be trustful and end up cheated, so serve me just right.
Anger — I was totally triggered by the mention of the discontinuation of the Daily Post being “a hard decision” in the post bringing this news. Saying “a hard decision” means avoiding telling the real reason.
Loss of faith in humanity — See above. I wonder what the real reason for this “hard decision” was. Kidding, I don’t wonder, we live in a capitalist society (even me), so it’s an easy guess.
Affirmation — The Daily Post challenges kept me blogging and connected with the world when I was too depressed and/or busy to even— But we’re ultimately all alone, so it’s up to me to do shit. You know, like to blog about it. Incidentally, I just did that.
This could be anywhere. Or could it? It’s not anywhere anyway. It’s Eastern Europe. Not eastern Europe with a lower-case e as a geographical region, but Eastern Europe capitalised as a former political unit (aka Eastern Bloc), which still retains its sociocultural characteristics today. Why should you care? Oh, you shouldn’t! Unless you’re into places in the middle of nowhere. That’s where my place is. Nowhere. I’m saying, not complaining.
In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Prolific.
The prompt prolific can be interpreted as pro-life. It’s in there: pro-lific and pro-life. Looks like these two might have something in common, right?
I’m not speaking of pro-life in the sense of anti-abortion—let’s not even look in that direction. It’s pro-life more in the sense of obsessively bringing things to life. Regardless of whether said things wish to be alive in the first place or would rather choose not to.
Spring is a quintessentially prolific season, hence my tulip photo. I never post tulips while omitting to quote my pet poet Sylvia Plath. I think I get her, or she gets me, whichever way you put it. She wasn’t particularly pro-life, which we have in common, as manifested by her choice to quit and put her head in the oven. And since we live in an age when you can’t say anything without offending someone, please let it be recorded that I’m not pro-suicide. Which is quite a feat, for a suicidal person.
But now, rest your eyes on the tulips and consider how they feel. That’s how tulips feel to Plath:
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,