Thinking my happy thoughts…

29 06 2012

…and trying not to contemplate murder.

Hint: it hasn’t really been working. And I apologize in advance for the ‘rant’.

There’s something people need to understand: if you mess with my cat, even in the smallest way, you most definitely mess with me. Thus far I’ve been controlling my emotions (and immense desire to retaliate) quite well, but I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.

*breathe* Okay, here’s the story:

Last Friday, I arrived home to find a letter from the complex’s representative stating that (1) it had been brought to their attention that there are animals in the complex; (2) it is in actual fact a pet-free complex, (3) we need to indicate who gave us permission to have our pets, providing written proof of this; (4) pets should be neutered/spayed; et cetera. This immediately put me in a foul mood since we received a notice last year February that only the three apartments listed therein had permission to own cats (thank the Gods for my obsessive-compulsive hoarding instinct that kicked in and made me keep that notice!)

If they’re going to complain about the cats (and there aren’t that many anymore, though now there are two dogs), I want to provide a counter argument complaint about the g*ddamn kiddies that live here:

(1) They run around everywhere; (2) they scream at each other while standing side by side, and it sounds like they are being murdered – I’m not sure whether to be concerned about a true injury or annoyed about the obvious attention-seeking gesture; (3) they have a blatant disregard for cars coming in and out of the gate, instead deciding that that’s a good place to hang around and then getting petulant/sulky when you ask them to move; (4) they don’t seem to have been taught that you leave other people’s pets alone and shouldn’t agitate/chase/pick them up or take them into your apartment – why do you think they run away or, in a different scenario, scratch you for grabbing at them. Sometimes animals cannot help what they do, but you as a parent are raising that child and obviously not doing the best of jobs… Trust me, I could go on and on about the little hooligans.

And I now, again*, have good reason to.

[*I say again because while we were on honeymoon they managed to let the cat out of our apartment and have my older sister in a flat spin looking for Smudgy only to hear one of the apartment doors opening and seeing her running from that direction.]

While I was reading the letter on Friday, Smudgy came to sit on the countertop. I immediately noticed that she wasn’t her usual self: she didn’t meow at me, wasn’t curious about what I was eating, wouldn’t respond when I talked to her and instead just sat there looking frightened/alert while staring at the window. I noticed that her tail was a droopy, and initially assumed she was merely feeling a bit ‘off’… until I told my mum about it on the phone a few minutes later. Her opinion? That Smudgy’s tail might be broken.

Cue mild panic attack and protective anxiety over my beloved kitty!

I could see she was in a great deal of pain, struggling to sit/lie down comfortably and sort of holding her backside in the air. Upon taking her to the vet, it was confirmed that her tail was either broken or dislocated, they he suspected (and I hoped for) the latter. I had to leave her there overnight so that she could go for x-rays the following morning. It turned out that her tail had been dislocated, but that she would be fine as long as there were no internal problems (nerve endings not working properly being the main concern). I had to closely monitor Smudgy’s sandbox habits – not being able to urinate or pass stool could mean complications and a possible operation. Defensive human mommy that I am, I worked from home on Monday just so that I could be close to her.

It seems like Smudgy was pursued by someone/something and, when she jumped into our window to escape, digging her nails in for purchase to drag herself out of harm’s way, aforementioned someone/something yanked on her tail – thus causing the dislocation. I don’t believe another cat could have done it. If it were a car, Smudgy’s tail would have been broken, not dislocated, and she knows to stay away from moving vehicles (she makes herself scarce when one starts up). The only logical thing that springs to mind is that the kiddies were (again) running up and down the stairs, playing in front of the various apartments, and then were chasing her and trying to grab onto her when she jumped inside. The school holidays started last Friday, after all, and I’ve seen them harassing cats before…

Oh, and when we were finally able to let Smudgy outside again on Tuesday, she was only gone for a short while before she leapt with great swiftness through the window again. A few seconds later, I heard the children passing by our window and running down the stairs to their respective homes, deterring me from seeing whose delinquents had been after her.

*rage rage RAGE*

Anyway: Smudgy’s tail is still a bit droopy, but other than that, the vet has confirmed that she’s fine and should make a speedy recovery. I just wish that she didn’t have to go through that pain 😦 I’ve tried not thinking about it too much. Instead, I’ve been thankful that the damage didn’t necessitate surgery and that she’s been giving me more cuddle time and affection.

Perhaps I should take up a personal mantra: Keep calm and don’t kill the kiddies… yet.

Stretching out across my lap before coming in for a cuddle

Completely contented kitty 🙂


Mood modification

4 11 2011

So the last few days my disposition has been quite on the negative (read: very angry) side. This has left me feeling a bit drained, moody, listless in the evenings, and put off when it comes to the intake of sustenance (i.e. food).

Since nobody likes a grumble buns, I’m going to get rid of this face:

…by doing the following (or at least try my very best to):

…and then attempt to feel/ look like this today:

At the moment – note the time, 10:10 in the AM – things are going rather well… Although I’m going to have to be pretty careful and watch myself, since I noted (to my despair) that I have a meeting with my manager until 5PM.

Greek Gods, this is going to be a loooong Fried-day…

So blog readers: what do YOU suggest I should do to get into a better mood?

[PS: One thing that can definitely raise my spirits is the fact that the new Stephen King novel is being released next Tuesday!!!!]

Bee with an itch

3 11 2011

I’m still in a foul mood, though for other reasons than yesterday… or was it the day before that? No, wait, it was on Tuesday (though I wouldn’t put it past this odious state to carry through until the weekend).

Whatever the case may be, it’s Meh-day, so perhaps my disposition is merely keeping pace.

Before I came to work this morning, I noticed that a friend of mine (a witty/ funny/ sarcastic, i.e. swell, guy) tweeted the following:

“So November 3rd is both Housewife Day and International Sandwich Day. Coincidence? I think n– *is stabbed by the closest woman*”

This immediately made me think of the following picture:

To keep the proverbial good times rolling (sarcastic face), I’ve decided to share my mood with you visually. Hope you enjoy the pictures below and have an amazing splendid good moderately okay bearable Meh-day.

[PS: My older sister, Libby, says that we must be having a psychic connection or something this week, since my mood mirrors hers. Perhaps it is genetic!]

[PPS: Betty Bright brought me a budvase brimming with lavender this morning. So far it hasn’t calmed me, though I am in a state of tranquil, composed antagonism.]

Anger Management

2 11 2011

What do people mean with ‘anger management’, anyway?

Is it about getting yourself to calm down; finding a sort of inner peace with the world and centring your chi; learning to accept that everyone gets angry but not allowing it to get the better of you?

Screw that.

I don’t want to manage my anger (it’s enough that I’m a Project Manager at work!)

I want to harness that anger, to let it stew and mould it and then tap into it when the time is right and use it as a driving force in my day-to-day life. Instead of getting an irate outburst, I want to use all my frustration and ‘hatred’ to fuel my productiveness. Sometimes the best work is done when you’re angry/ brooding…

Okay, so perhaps the above sounds like managing my anger, since I don’t let it get the better of me and cause me to make a scene. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not angry. I’ll just be channelling the anger into a more dynamic state.

I don’t get angry often. It takes a lot to get me angry/ frustrated to the point that I start ‘scaring’ people – to the point, in fact, that I post a short ranting status on Facebook, using stars to replace letters in offensive words. After all, I’m supposed to be sophisticated and proper, daaahling 😉

But perhaps we’ve all got it wrong. Perhaps ‘anger management’ isn’t about managing your anger – it’s about managing to get angry! Some people never seem to get angry, almost as if they are emotionless, so in that sense, the fact that you as an individual actually have the capacity to get angry makes you more normal, more human (if there is such a thing)… Am I making sense? Who cares; it’s Whensday/ Hump-Day, and I’m so tired that I simply cannot wait for the working week to be over.

One thing about me being incredibly angry: I tend to want to tell people how I feel about them and their behaviour (cue many ‘Oh snap’ moments), though I never do. I just get a sort of sick satisfaction thinking the things that won’t pass my lips. Some people deserve to be brought down to earth and given a proverbial b*tch-slap, yet it’s not my place to do so (no matter how tempting it is).

If I’m still angry/ get angry again by the time I go home tonight, I’ll just have to start obsessively cleaning *laugh* Though I’ll try being faux positive today. It’s the best you’re going to get out of me.

So, how do YOU deal with anger?

[NOTE: the way I deal with anger is not limited to the blog entry above… though this is how I felt after my utterly crappy, infuriatingly vexing, rage-filled Tuesday.]

Rage: Home Edition

17 11 2010

How many of you have ever read that Richard Bachman (Stephen King) story RAGE (originally titled GETTING IT ON)? Or, more appropriate here, ROADWORK, for that matter?

ROADWORK is a tale that sees Barton George Dawes unable to come to terms with the highway extension project, where both his house and his workplace will be knocked down in order for this extension to be made. He even approaches someone with connections to the Mob for help, hoping to obtain explosives, though when this fails he makes his own explosives by using gasoline – and guess what? It actually works! He’s able to destroy quite a bit of the construction equipment… although this only delays the extension project for the shortest of whiles.

He’s busy losing everything: his job (due to his actions), his wife (who left him after she found out about how he purposefully didn’t seal a deal for his old company), and the only thing that’s left to lose is the house and the memories that go with it. But you know human nature – it’s more than just a house: it’s someone’s home, filled with loving times and fond (albeit painful) memories of his son who died of a brain tumour. This is why he stands his ground; this is why he won’t leave his home, refusing to leave his home and even shooting at the police, and finally setting off the last of his explosives – destroying himself along with the house he loved so much… because of the memories of his son, unable to let go.

RAGE is a bit more complex than that, and I don’t really have the ‘strength’ to explain it to you know, so if you’re interested you can read about it on Stephen King’s website or on Wikipedia. Even though ROADWORK ties in with what I want to talk about today, I think rage is mainly what I feel, which is why I thought about the story (brilliant, of course), and decided to simply combine the two stories in my blog post’s title.

Because man, I am truly utterly upset angry sad enraged…

My Significant Other dropped me off at my parental home yesterday after work. I was going to do some ironing, chat with my mum, and then we’d stay over for supper. Just some nice, family time.

But even the simplest and nicest of things get spoiled.

My parentals and I left the house at 17:05 to go to the grocery store. At 17:20, on our way back, our next door neighbour phones to inform us that it appears that someone broke into our house. Luckily we weren’t far off, so we were there in a minute or two, coming to assess the damage. They broke the large front window, went right through the house, and left behind minimal damage and only a few things stolen.

The DVD player in the living room, which is adjoined to the dining room (they broke that window), was stolen, the video machine was on the floor, and wires were lying about. Bottles of wine – fortunately not broken – were on the floor, and a bottle of nail polish from my mum’s one cupboard and a slab of chocolate from my younger sister’s dresser drawer were in the living room by the television (only slightly shifted) as well.

They didn’t go into the kitchen, which is where my handbag with my purse in it stood. The walked straight through my bedroom to the downstairs study – where the computer is – without touching anything in my room… and guess what? My new pearls (for the wedding) and tiara were lying on the bed which they merely walked past (!!!), clear as day.

They even opened only one of the cupboards in my parentals’ room – meaning that they didn’t take (or see) any of my mum’s jewellery.

Thank the gods for small… well, large, actually… favours.

All the computer equipment was placed neatly on the floor, though the screen (which was bought very recently) was broken. The only thing they took was the printer, which we found on the stoep where the window was broken, and the guillotine, which was nowhere to be found. We almost thought that they had stolen my mum’s friend’s laptop, which my Significant Other was going to have a look at that evening, but at least my mum realized this morning that she had put it away safely elsewhere, so that’s a relief.

Food from the cupboard was scattered everywhere – they even left a box of Salticrax and the tin of Milo on my parentals’ bed, though none of the food was open and thus the floors weren’t filthy. There were two drops of blood on the sealed pack of kitchen towel, and a big lovely palm/ hand print on the glass where they broke in. If they can catch those f*cking b*stards (which is what I called them on Facebook, though I don’t like using that sort of language), then it’ll be a fine day indeed.

Still, I don’t know how much will come of it. The police took almost an hour and a half to get to my parentals’ home (sadly, I expected no less…)

Why can’t a person be safe in your own home anymore? Why are there people who do these kinds of things? Is there no place we can be safe? Is nothing sacred? It’s a ‘miracle’ that they only stole two things, yet the really bad part about this ordeal is knowing that someone broke into your home and was rummaging among your personal things. No respect, no remorse *sigh* It’s a cruel world.

And I know that there’s no point in me getting really angry – enraged, even – and wanting to protect our home with all my might. It’s over and done with, and nothing can change that now. What’s sadder is the fact that it has become so unsafe in the area where my parentals live that they might have to move in the not-too-distant future… Moving from the home where not only my sisters and I grew up, but my mother, as well, since her father built the house.

When things go wrong, all you can do is pick up the pieces and go on in life (although you’ll become even more cautious and precautionary than you already were).

What are we to do… in a world where a lot of people just don’t care…?

(Scary to wonder what it would take for a person to act in the same way as Barton George Dawes did… and to see some logic in his reasoning and emotions.)