Monday Made Me Do It

Author: MMMDI

  • Dating.com: How I Went Looking for Love and Left as a Lesbian Cat

    Dating.com: How I Went Looking for Love and Left as a Lesbian Cat

    Hazard Rating: High

    Classification: Identity Transformation Event

    Status: Closed

    Casualties: One dating profile

    Survivors: One cat

    There comes a point in every woman’s life when she asks herself an important question:

    “What if I tried online dating?”

    That is usually followed by a second question:

    “How difficult could it possibly be?”

    The answer, as it turns out, is:

    Much more difficult than becoming a lesbian cat.

    Several years ago, I joined Dating.com.

    My expectations were modest.

    I wasn’t looking for a billionaire.

    I wasn’t looking for a prince.

    I wasn’t even looking for a man who owned a vineyard in Tuscany and wrote poetry by moonlight.

    I was merely looking for a reasonably functional human male.

    The bar was so low it was practically a tripping hazard.

    Yet somehow, Dating.com managed to limbo beneath it.

    Within minutes of creating my profile, my inbox exploded.

    Men from every corner of the globe were suddenly desperate to speak to me.

    The speed at which they appeared was remarkable.

    My Spidey senses tingled when every message followed the same general pattern:

    “Hello beautiful”

    “Hello dear”

    “You seem very special”

    As I began interacting with a few of the men, a pattern emerged.

    Every interaction seemed to require credits.

    Credits to read messages.

    Credits to send messages.

    Credits to continue conversations.

    Credits to open letters and “gifts” the men sent.

    Presumably credits to blink.

    At this point I began to suspect that the platform’s true purpose was not matchmaking.

    It was harvesting credit card information with the enthusiasm of a combine harvester during wheat season.

    Naturally, I decided to leave.

    This should have been simple.

    Normal websites allow you to close an account and move on with your life.

    Dating.com appeared to view this as an optional feature.

    The experience felt less like cancelling an account and more like trying to resign from a secret society.

    At my wits’ end, it suddenly occurred to me:

    If I could not escape as myself, perhaps I could reinvent myself.

    History is full of great transformations.

    The caterpillar becomes a butterfly.

    The tadpole becomes a frog.

    The frog becomes a prince (although sometimes it’s the other way around).

    And apparently, I was about to become a cat.

    First, I changed my profile photo.

    Out went my human face.

    In came my cat.

    I have to say that she’s far more photogenic than I have ever been.

    And she had better cheekbones.

    Next, I changed my name.

    If one is going to become a cat, one should commit fully.

    I became:

    Kitty Purry.

    At this point, I was no longer sure whether I was deleting a dating profile or launching a music career.

    Finally, I adjusted my dating preferences.

    Since I was now a cat, I reasoned that normal rules no longer applied.

    I selected:

    Interested in women.

    And with that, my transformation was complete.

    I had entered the platform as a heterosexual woman.

    I left as a lesbian cat.

    Investigator’s Notes

    No cats were harmed during this identity transformation event.

    The author has since returned to being human.

    Kitty Purry’s current whereabouts remain unknown.

  • Latest Developments in Chess

    Latest Developments in Chess

    i cornered him

    again today

    the slippery little wretch

    stood there in the corner

    surrounded by my rook

    my king

    and the full weight

    of my emotional investment

    “stalemate”

    said dr wolf

    as though this

    was not clearly

    a victory

    as though I had not

    spent thirty minutes

    herding this man

    across the board

    like an emotionally unavailable lover

    apparently

    the black king

    must still feel

    “threatened”

    which feels like

    an unnecessary technicality

    i have threatened him

    with my entire nervous system

  • Remembering Srebrenica

    Remembering Srebrenica

    Sarajevo
    I turned a corner and walked straight into a wound.
    Not one still bleeding – but one kept visible, like a scar that insists on being seen.

    This mural doesn’t whisper.
    It speaks loudly in white, black, and green – the colours of remembrance, of grief, of survival.
    The flower is a Srebrenica daisy – each petal a life, a name, a prayer for what should never have happened and must never be forgotten.

    What moved me was not just the message,
    but its placement:
    on the skin of a living city,
    above a restaurant, beside windows,
    between trams and errands.
    Grief, in Bosnia, walks with you. It has a postal code.
    It asks nothing but that you don’t look away.

    This image is not only part of Imperfect Light—
    It is a promise:
    That I, too, will remember.
    Not only the tragedy,
    but the strength it took to keep
    blooming in its aftermath.

    This post is part of the “Imperfect Light” series – you can read the introduction here.

  • Inat Kuća – The House of Spite, Sarajevo

    Inat Kuća – The House of Spite, Sarajevo

    Inat Kuća – Spite House

    I didn’t take this photograph because the building was beautiful – though it is. I took it because of the story it carries.

    This is Inat Kuća, the “House of Spite” – a name born from defiance. When the Austro-Hungarian authorities planned to build the City Hall across the river, a stubborn houseowner refused to move unless they relocated his house, brick by brick, to the other side. They did. And he watched it rise from across the Miljačka, his spite immortalized in wood and stone.

    I was drawn to the green bay window jutting out like a jawline, unbothered and proud. The sun carved shadows across its face, as if underlining the house’s character. I didn’t edit those lines away. I wanted the grit. The texture. The unapologetic presence.

    In that moment, the house reminded me of Bosnia itself: unyielding, poetic, and full of stories that begin with resistance and end in resilience.

    This post is part of the “Imperfect Light” series – you can read the introduction here.

  • Vječna vatra – The Eternal Flame, Sarajevo

    Vječna vatra – The Eternal Flame, Sarajevo

    Vječna vatra – The Eternal Flame

    I stood before the flame and couldn’t move.

    It flickered not with fury, but with memory. The wind teased it, the traffic rushed behind me, but the fire held steady – unyielding, quiet, alive. Just like Sarajevo.

    This is the Vječna vatra, the Eternal Flame, lit in 1946 to honour the liberators of the city after Wolrd War II. The inscription behind it speaks of unity – of Bosniaks, Croats, Serbs, Jews, and all who fought side by side. It’s a language of defiance and remembrance, written in stone and fire.

    I took this photo not just to document a monument, but to preserve a moment: the tenderness of the wilted flowers, the scarred marble, they way the flame dared to glow even in daylight. In a city that has known both liberation and siege, this flame speaks a truth beyond politics.

    It says:

    We remember.

    We endure.

    We remain.

    This image is a tribute to Sarajevo’s layered soul – burned, but not broken. And to the quiet fire that survives in every Bosnian heart.

    This post is part of the “Imperfect Light” series – you can read the introduction here.

  • Rose Without a Name

    Rose Without a Name

    Sarajevo Rose
    This is a flower
    that bloomed in fire,
    its petals not fragrant,
    but final.

    No vase,
    no grave,
    no last goodbye.

    Only footsteps now,
    hurrying past what once screamed.
    Only silence,
    remembering louder than war.

    Kneel,
    and the city will tell you
    what it costs
    to keep blooming.

    This post is part of the “Imperfect Light” series – you can read the introduction here.

  • Ljubavno pismo Bosni i Hercegovini

    Ljubavno pismo Bosni i Hercegovini

    Moody oil painting of Bascarsija in Sarajevo.

    Priča iza serije Imperfect Light: Gdje je svjetlost preživjela.


    Onima koji ovu zemlju zovu domom, i onima koji njeno sjećanje nose u sebi—

    Nisam Bosanska.

    Nisam odrasla sa pričama ove zemlje
    urezanim u porodične zidove.
    Nisam izgubila dom ovdje.
    Nisam preživjela rate.

    Ali kada sam dosla u Bosnu i 
    Hercegovinu u proljeće 2024, nešto u
    meni se probudilo – tiho, ali snažno. Kao da sam stigla na mjesto koje me čekalo cijelo vrijeme.

    Nisam došla da uzmem.
    Došla sam da slušam.

    Fotografije u ovoj seiji nastale su isključivo putem mog telefona – ne kao izjava, već kao odraz mog načina gledanja: jednostavno, instinktivno, i s onim što mi je bilo u rukama.
    Pjesme su napisane naknadno, ne da odjasne slike, već da odaju počast onome što je ostalo neizrecčeno.

    Ovaj projekt nije dokumentarni. Nije politička izjava.
    To je, jednostavno rečeno, ljubavno pismo – ispisano u svjetlosti koja nije bila savršena,
    u tišini koja još uvijek odjekuje,
    u divljenju koje još uvijek traje.

    Narodu Bosne i Hercegovine:
    Ako sam nešto pogrešno prikazala,
    Dobrodošla je vaša ispravka.
    Ako sam dotakla nešto sveto, nadam se
    da je to bilo s poštovanjem.
    A ako sam odala počast makar jednoj
    uspomeni – onda je ovaj projekt imao smisla.

    Hvala vam što ste mi dopustili da vidim vašu zemlju – i da je osjetim.

    Tokom narednih sedmica, dijelit ću djeliće serije Imperfect Light – fotografiju po fotografiju, pjesmu po pjesmu.

    Svaka od njih fragment sjećanja, trenutak tišine, ljubavno pismo ispisano sjenom I preživljavanjem.

    Ako želiš koračati ovim putem sa mnom, možeš se pretplatiti ispod istražiti arhivu vlastitim tempom.
  • A Love Letter to Bosnia & Herzegovina

    A Love Letter to Bosnia & Herzegovina

    Moody, oil painting of Bascarsija in Sarajevo.

    The story behind “Imperfect Light: Where Light Survived/Gdje je svjetlost preživjela”

    To those who call this land home, and to those who carry its memory—

    I am not Bosnian.

    I did not grow up with the stories of this 
    land etched into my family’s walls. 
    I did not lose a home here.
    I did not survive the war.

    But when I came to Bosnia & Herzegovina 
    in the spring of 2024, 
    something inside me stirred—
    something quiet and immediate, as if I 
    had finally arrived somewhere that had
    been waiting for me all along.

    I did not come here to take.
    I came to listen.

    The photographs made in this series were made entirely on my iPhone – not as a statement, but as a reflection of how I see: simply, instinctively, and with whatever I have in my hands.

    The poems were written afterward, not to explain the images, but to honour what they left unsaid.

    This project is not a documentary.  It is not a political statement.
    It is, quite simply, a love letter – written
    in light that was imperfect,
    in silence that still echoes,
    in awe that still lingers.

    To the people of Bosnia & Herzegovina:
    If I have gotten anything wrong, I
    welcome your correction.
    If I have touched anything sacred, I hope
    it was with care.
    And if I have honoured even one memory—
    Then this project has meant something.

    Thank you for letting me see your country – and feel it.

    Over the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing pieces from Imperfect Light – photo by photo, poem by poem.

    Each one is a fragment of memory, a moment of stillness, a love letter written in shadow and survival.

    If you’d like to walk this journey with me, you can subscribe below or explore the archive at your own pace.

    Thank you for reading with an open heart.

  • I’m Not Stuck. I’m Rooted.

    I’m Not Stuck. I’m Rooted.

    Sometimes, what others call “waiting” is really just growing in place. This poem is for the ones who stay with their healing, who bloom slowly, fiercely, without apology.

    Poem against a background of a Tuscan garden in full bloom.
    What feelings have others tried to rush you through? What happens when you honour your own timing?
  • This Room Has No Clocks

    This Room Has No Clocks

    Time behaves strangely when your heart is on pause. This poem is for the days that stretch, the seasons that fold into one another, and the windows we stare out of while we wait for a different kind of weather.

    Poem against a background of a moody, vintage oil painting of a woman sitting by a window and writing in her journal by candlelight.
    What are you waiting for that cannot be rushed?