Last week has been uneventful, much as my entire life. Thanks the universe for that. I hate everything but eventfulness especially. I have captured each non-event of each uneventful day in one non-picture.
I do crap. Because I can. I mean, because I can’t. Can’t do better, that is. Since you appear not to hate my Instagram-to-WordPress reposts enough, you have condemned yourselves to another week’s worth of instant snaps. One day, one snap. Each snap is crap with an even crappier story to go with it. Here’s proof.
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).
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.
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.
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.
Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to talk about my bowels. At least, not specifically and not in graphic detail. However, I had the chance for the first time to step on a smart bathroom scale which, besides your weight, displays the percentages of water, fat and muscle in your body. I was pretty surprised by the results and I should probably do something about it. Like, I don’t know, eat something.
Now, I’m aware I’m underweight and I try not to make too much fuss, except keeping tabs on my weight to make sure it doesn’t drop below the pretty random limit of 47 kg (103 lb). That was my weight when I was getting married. (Why, yes, I was a very insubstantial bride.) Now I’m slightly below 50 kg (110 lbs), including a cat sitting on my shoulder. I would probably benefit from weighting more, but I quite enjoy people giving me free food just by the look of me.
What the smart scale told me though was that I had 45.5% of muscle in the body and 14.2% fat. That’s ridiculous. That’s a lot of muscle for a woman of my age and build, and it must be wrong. I look anything but muscular. (Though there is a mini-muscle forming on my shoulders from my yoga planks and downdogs.) Also, my fat percentage is basically health-threateningly low. WTF. This must be wrong too, unless it’s right because I don’t have boobs and hips, where most women have fat stored.
The scale scared the shit out of me. It suggested that my proportions were that of a top athlete, which isn’t a good thing when you’re not a top athlete. Top athletes are doing nothing but ruining their health. I’m already ruining my health with smoking, so I should consider getting fat for my health’s sake. This is a confusing concept. I’ve been on a vegan-like health-focused diet (plus Oreos) for long enough to completely lose appetite for anything else (except Oreos). It’s awkward when you actually start liking healthy food. And it’s super awkward that I should change my diet for something less healthy. I wonder how this happened.
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.
Michael has tentatively started a new regular feature. I decided to interpret his Wot I Saw Wednesday as a forum for the worst of bad pictures. Unlike other photography forums, this is one where I can contribute a lot of quality material. Continuing in the mode of my first response to this challenge, here is another shitty snap of myself when I was feeling shitty.
Yesterday I had an identity crisis, which is my euphemism for a bout of depression. I wished I rather had a bout of anxiety. Well, now I know I should be more careful with what I wish for because I indeed woke up in an anxious fit today. Nothing half a Lexaurin wouldn’t fix, but nothing too enjoyable either. To make it fair, since I wasn’t enjoying myself, here is another crappy picture for you not to enjoy.
Here are some gritty city snaps from my latest business trip adventure. Spending about four hours on trains and buses to get somewhere and another four hours to get back is only bearable when I spend time snapping everything.
Shot with my iPhone 8 and edited in Adobe Photoshop. Kidding. I don’t do Apples and I’m not a fan of Adobe either. Shoot me. Actually, shot with my Android-running Lenovo mobile, which is as badass as any Apple, and edited in Snapseed, which is, hands down, the best phone photo editing app around.
I have bouts of insomnia alternated by bouts of sleepomania. I don’t sleep when I’m too stressed out and I sleep all the time when I’m too stressed out. Yes, I’m aware it’s the same thing, it depends on what kind of stressed out exactly I am at the moment. Right now, I’m the kind of stressed out when I never sleep because my brain never shuts down (and never shuts up).
When I was attempting to sleep last night, I found myself engaging in various kinds of bizarre activities not only not related to but even outright counterproductive to sleeping. They say that if you don’t fall asleep within half an hour, you should get up. Alright, so I got up and did the following:
- In lieu of a hot bath, I went to shave my legs because I don’t have a bathtub and it doesn’t really matter what kind of ritual involving hot water and foam you do.
- In lieu of hot milk, I opened the fridge and watched it for a while like a TV. There was soy milk but I didn’t dare to heat it up lest it should explode. You never know what they put in these things.
- In lieu of a relaxing meditation, I put a coat over my nightie and sat at the balcony to smoke. Smoking before bed is even worse than smoking at other times because it apparently pumps you up.
Then I crawled back in bed and was freezing, either because it was cold outside or due to the loss of my fur by shaving. I lay flat on my back and was waiting, impatiently. Nothing happened. So I rolled on to my side and called the cat. Three times. She was too busy licking her butt on my yoga mat to come to me. I’ll remember that the next time she meows for wet food.
I remembered to close my eyes to facilitate sleep. Then I remembered what I haven’t done today, what I should’ve done the day before and what I should do the next day, provided I fall asleep and wake up. Then I remembered what I have done throughout my life and what I shouldn’t have done. I grew increasingly terrified. Then I managed to cry myself to sleep.