Raindrops are Falling in My Head

It's one of those days.

Bleurgh.... the weather's reflecting my mood to perfection. Gloomy, dark, depressive and utterly unproductive.

I'm still at office, though everyone else has buggered off home. Got nothing to do for an hour, until it's time to shove off for a rehearsal at a friend's house. I've had a bad day... not bad things happening, but generally a really bad mood that's twisted me around its little finger and made the last 10 hours mondo crappio.

I suppose it boils down to me being female... we're prone to this sort of thing now and then. No, it's not PMS, dumbass... just another one of those days when everything ticks you off so much it borders on absurd.

It started off with a silent argument I had in my head with the better half... when he announced this morning that he was going to the gym with some work buddies in the evening. I totally over-reacted and made a scene out of it, even to the extent of ranting at him on email this afternoon. You see, I've been dying to go to the gym with him for the last year, but recently gave up the constant pleading and nagging because he really didn't seem interested, and always had a bunch of excuses each time I asked. Then suddenly, someone else suggests it, and he's packed and hopping along. Am I THAT much of a pain to go with, that all my wailing for the past year can be ousted with a single invitation from another person?

I know what you're going to say... Im being stupid and it's a 'guy thing'. Bullshit. We went to the gym together some time ago, and we both enjoyed it. But lately, enjoyment happens in two different corners of the world.

Anyway, long story short, I had a somewhat irrational female viewpoint to make, and I stretched it in my head to its dramatic best, so much so that I got worked up over nothing, and ended up simmering over every other relationship issue I've had in the past. All the naggy little doubts and concerns came flooding back and cooked itself to be one enormous lump of distasteful crap.

So much so that now, I'm seated here, 10 hour after the whole thing started, still obsessing.

I've come to the conclusion that my present state of mind and mood has nothing to do with a petty tiff about a gym. There's been plenty of stuff going on in my head for months now, and it's festered to a point where even the tiniest absurdity is setting off an eruption of irritability and depression. I am starting to become complacent and unhappy with my life, and it in turn is changing me into a person I don't like and never wanted to become.

Either that, or it's just one of those days.

Feeling Green

It's blog action day, and I'm doing my bit to save a tree or two. Hopefully, there's someone out there jobless enough to read my musings and take note, and POSSIBLY be affected in some form or manner.
So. I am a tree hugger. Not so much a kaftan-toting, unshaven flower child picketing over the rights of leaves, but someone who demonstrates a considerable amount of angst towards the likes of mismanaged deforestation. Simply put, if you kill the trees, I'll want to kill you.

I can be sensible enough to understand the needs of man and the necessity to utilise trees for various purposes. I do, in fact, sit in chairs and eat at tables myself. And life wouldn't be the same without paper. However, I am also learned enough to know that several environmentally conscious organisations and nations have adopted strategies to ensure the sustainability of the eco-environment, whilst at the same time felling trees for whatever end goal. What I detest is lethargic entities that know of this, but don't follow suit. It's quite apparent that no amount of public outcry or well-meaning pleas from environmentalists are going to change man's ways, given the state of our planet today. If people listened, Al Gore wouldn't have had to do anything worthy of a nobel prize. I think it's high time a more nazi-like approach was taken to sort out this whole issue, and violators of nature were taken severely to task without question.

I look around me today and am saddened by the way this country and more so this world has 'developed'. Gone are the days where I can sit under a tree and listen to a happy bird sing, or smile at a naughty squirrel while enjoying the cool fresh breeze swirling around me. Ha. Nowadays, just FINDING said tree is called a vacation, and requires extensive travel. I am quite amused with so-called contractors and real estate developers who harp on about their grand plans to ruin a perfectly good scenery. I am even more amused by the sheer idiocy that compels some people to buy into that crap. If the city life was all that hot and happening, then why the dickens do city dwellers pay out of their nose to 'get away' on weekends? For god's sake, you have to buy TICKETS to see the squirrels now!

There's no point in me repeating what everyone else says about the state of affairs today - how illness is spreading, animals are suffering extinction, the air is poisonous, etc. etc. blah blah. I think it's come to a point where saying it is not even necessary, simply because we're all living in a hellhole anyway, and not knowing it puts you in the comatose category.

There's no two words about it. The world is fading fast, and unless we want to end up withered slivers of diseased corpse, then we need to do something about it, WITHOUT waiting for someone else to start and win a Nobel prize along the way.

If not for the sake of the trees, do it for your own damn sake.

Clogged

Another Sunday. The days are flying by too fast, and then again, not fast enough. I'm dreading the inevitable move out of the office at the end of this coming week, but also quite eagerly looking forward to 10days of doing nothing before starting at the new place.
A lot's been going on in this muddled mind of mine, besides the work-related stuff. Life's little variables are starting to become a royal pain in the ass, and I'm suddenly feeling very sick of it all.
Not like you want to know, but my sinusitis made a comeback last week and hasn't had the decency to leave, which means the ol' head feels like ton of bricks, and the nose hasn't enjoyed air for sometime. My brother the newly-graduated quack says that the case is severe, and calls for a draining of the inner mush, which requires me to stick a tube-needle up my nostril and break the bone to suck out the hardened pus.

Enjoy your meal after reading THAT.

I have still to decide whether I want to put myself through all that nonsense, or wait till it clears on its own. Meanwhile, the condition it's in at the moment is making me drowsy and irritable, and life is certainly not cheerful.

Similar to the clogged sinus, several other elements in my life are giving me reasons to ponder on their longevity and feasibility. (Ooh look I used big words.... good girl.) Feels like life is changing in many ways, and I don't really know what to do about it. A classic case of heart Vs. head Vs.gut. What do you do when you know that certain decisions you make will hurt other people that you don't want to hurt? Like, for a long time? And how do you know it's the right decision to make?

Adulthood sucks.

Spidey-itis

You know how Spiderman claims that 'with power come responsibility'? Well, I've got the Spiderman Flu. Symptoms consist of mixed emotions and feelings of annoyance, despair, confusion, alarm, rage and immense stress.

Things are NOT happening the way I planned, and it's pissing me off big time. Let me explain -

Remember how I mentioned in a previous post about making a difficult decision to leave my current workplace and superteam? Well, my present office is something that I created and built up, and am so damn proud of. I mean, I don't own it, but I started it off from scratch and put it together without a single dog in my group helping me out (and I clearly needed the help at the time too!). Over the years, the number of employees have grown and developed with me, and we're quite a competitive entity now, and I can't help but feel quite bucked about the strides we've made and the way we've transformed from a bunch of clueless beginners to a well-oiled professional agency.

I've nurtured so many dreams for this place, and many a wish for where it would go in the years to come. Through the years, the place and the team have become so much more to me than just a company with colleagues. This is, and will always be MY baby. When I made the half-hearted choice to take up a new job offer that came my way, I immediately set about making plans for how my baby would manage in my absence. I'd gotten together a hard working team with plenty of passion, who were by now trained enough to run the show irrespective of my existence in the company. Even now they've taken on the task of making things happen without me, and that's exactly how I want it to be.

BUT, I didn't take into consideration that evil little thing called 'Management'. My company belongs to a larger corporate entity, run by a coven of slime-balls who work for themselves and no other. Up until now, I'd managed to fend them and their greedy hands off the company, and dashed alot of dreams bourne by personal ulterior motives. When I made the official announcement of my resignation, they pounced on the opportunity, and have begun work on taking control of the place. These people have little or no regard for my team, nor an understanding of how we work. It just so happens that this operation can offer several benefits to certain snakes in the group, and my going away makes their mission a lot easier.

And that's where the Spidey-itis comes in. This decision for me to move out was not one that could be made lightly, given that, as a manager and a leader, I was responsible for more than just MY career. I have a whole company full of other individuals, whose careers and job satisfaction rests on my shoulders. I'd made promises to my team, and I'd brought them to believe in me, and now, thanks to my choices and the demons around us, those beliefs will be torn apart.

Frankly, it SUCKS. I wish I could take a bazooka to the top management and blow all of them apart for being the conniving wolves that they are, but I can't. If it was a case of them doing something to benefit the company and the team, I'd be fine. But I know that's not the case. They have vested interest in this operation that could very well compromise all that I've worked so hard to achieve.

I can't help but feel so guilty for putting my guys into this rut. Here I am, floating away to a new job and a clean slate, whilst leaving them behind to fend off the rabid dogs. How dare I.

And now, it's too late for me to do anything about it. I've already given my word to the new office, and officially resigned from this one. I've invested money and time in replacing my post here, and there's no way in hell the group would take me back now, since it bogs up their agendas.

I can only be there for my guys, and hope that they'll stand up for themselves and my baby as much as I would have, were I here. I guess it's up to them now....

I feel like I'm letting so many people down, especially myself. I was given powers and I didn't use them wisely, and now so many others have to bear the result of it.

I hate Spidey-itis. Antidote, anyone?

Long Live Mother Nature!

There's this nifty little concept that's buzzing around the blogsphere that i think you should get involved in.
Apparently, Oct 15th has been declared "Blog Action Day', and bloggers around the world can unite and publish posts on nature on the same day. Hopefully, this will make a statement, and communicate a single universal message to the millions who visit our blogs.

Check out the link for info and sign up! I did.

http://blogactionday.org/

Cats in My Cradle

So last week we celebrated World Animal Day and all…

Colombopetrescue’s recent blogpost on her late dog Picky inspired me to write this tribute to some of the dearest friends I’ve had in my life- my legendary cats of the past. I say legendary because each has a story of it’s own, slathered with highly interesting personalities, that has provided much dinnertime conversation amongst human friends and family. Thus I felt the most fitting thing would be to pay tribute by way of immortalizing them on the internet.

If you’re a cat person, then you’ll know what I mean when I say that they are a delightful species of pet to own. Independent, beautiful, full of energy and riveting to look at, a cat can be the best possible companion for a like-minded person.

Me being the sort of girl who really goes for the chilled out attitude of a cat, I’ve housed more than my fair share of them in the past, earning me various labels from the amused society that surrounds me (As if my blog URL didn’t give you enough of a clue…)
In 28 years I have enjoyed the company of 15 cats consecutively, plus a myriad of others who drop in from the neighbourhood. Mine were Pulun, Sooky, Booshie, Twinky, Simon, Martin, Dudley, ‘Feet’, Stevie, Lonely Bat, Nangi, Tigger, and more recently Socksy, Hades and Isis. Each could not be more different from the other, and each has left their pawprint firmly embedded in my font of pleasant memories.
Pls note that the supportive images are not those of my cats (I didn’t have any softcopies to upload,) but are some I found online, that have remarkable- even twinlike- resemblances to my own fellows.

Pulun

Meaning ‘cottonwool’ in Sinhala, Pulun was, in one word, beautiful. Pure white with gorgeous blue eyes, she was the cat who commanded respect, with her ladylike qualitites and breathless looks. I don’t remember much of Pulun’s antics, save that she had a way with the boys, and as a result mothered a fair amount of squirmy half-blood kittens in her time, more often than not in one of my mother’s kitchen cupboards, inside shelved cooking pans. The photogenic one of the bunch, she’d sit serenely for any camera, knowing full well that every side of her was a ‘good side’. Tragically, Pulun was kidnapped, and if memory recalls, murdered by some insane neighbours, although I have little recollection of this, owing to it being my early years.

Sooky

Sooky was a ball of silver Persian fur, and the star attracting after Pulun’s untimely demise. She spent a good long life in our household, birthing litter after litter and becoming one of my mother’s favourites. One could call Sooky the ‘Grand duchess’ of the household cats, a role she played with much grace. That said, with all her finery, Sooky did have the inbuilt evil streak in her, and treated us to many a dismembered rat, squirrel and bird in her day.

Booshie

Sooky’s first born and my favourite, owing to the fact that he was MINE and not merely the household feline, so much so that he was my topic of speech in a grade 2 effective speaking examination. Booshie grew up with me, and became my best friend in those dim distant days of being the ‘weird kid’ who didn’t make many human pals. He was silvery grey just like his mother, but short furred and chubby. His emerald green eyes would stare at you and set your mind blank with awe. His colour wasn’t the only thing Sooky’d passed on to him, because Booshie could be lethal with any other smaller creature fated to cross his path. Booshie loved dressing up, and had quite the collection of outfits tailored by mother, that he’d wear before going to sleep in his very own customized cot. He’d follow me around wherever I went, and was never far from me at night. More often than not, I found myself being rudely pushed off my pillow because Booshie felt it to be more politically that he slept on it instead. Needless to say, I was heartbroken for years after Booshie died as a result of a snakebite.

Twinkie

My goodness. This one is a living legend amongst the archive of stories about my cats, due to her very unusual name. Or should I say names, because there were not one, not two, but THIRTEEN of them. Anne Mary Jennifer Sandra Sally Senorita Fredericka Booshina Silvia Twinkerbell Esmerelda Agatha Edith was she. I can still say it all in one breath. For practicality’s sake, we called her Twinkie.
Twinkie was sliver of a cat, sexy in her slim glossy black-and-white coat, and commanded the attention of all the perverted tomcats in our neighbourhood. SO much so that she was quite pregnant, quite often. She lived a good long attitude-filled life, until she decided one fine day to run away from home and never return. To this day, I don’t where she went.

Simon, Martin & Dudley

The musketeers three. Born of Twinkie, each couldn’t have been more different than the other.

Simon was the eldest, as one of a previous litter. The thug of the pack, he was big-made, rough looking and always wounded in battle. Bill Sikes of Oliver Twist comes to mind with Simon, even down to his raspy gruff voice that would rather wheeze than mew. This cat had the guts of a Doberman, which he showed off with pride when it came to the family dogs.

Martin, on the other hand, was the quiet guy, often found cowering behind a curtain from Simon’s eyes. One could not help but feel sorry for Martin, watching the sibling abuse he went through, and how he took it all with silent dignity, right up to the day he couldn’t take it anymore, and took up permanent residency with our neighbours instead.

And Dudley…. Dudley was a different kettle of fish altogether, and has gone down in the family history as the cat who will never be forgotten.

Because… Dudley was gay.

I kid you not. I had a homosexual cat, who knew it, and was proud of it. How did I know he was gay? Because apart from the long hours he’d spend on grooming his gorgeous bushy tail (when his siblings, mother and father were all short-haired strays), and the many times he’d cower on his toes on the kitchen cupboard with a petulant mew at the sight of a cockroach, Dudley would, at any given opportunity, try to mate with his brothers, much to their disgust. Even the neighbourhood thugs gave up their fight for his territory, simply because his ogling attentions scared them. ‘Dudders’, as I fondly referred to him, lived a long and sexually unsatisfied life, until the cat flu got the better of him.

Stevie

Shortly after we lost Dudleykins, a completely new personality entered our lives. A little black ball of fur we found on the street on rainy evening, whose tiny eyes had tragically been pecked out by crows. We rushed her to the vet, expecting a decision to put her to sleep, but were told she was healthy enough to live a full life minus her eyes. And so we took her home and promptly named her Stevie Wonder, given her colour and physical limitations.
Stevie grew up to amaze us and all those who witnessed her will to live a full and happy life. With her heightened sense of smell and hearing, she was often better than a cat who could see, because of her sense of focus and sheer determination. At kitten stage she’d bump into walls and chairs when trying to find her way around, but soon developed a map in her mind, bourne of the many accidents. This map and extra sensory perception allowed her to streak around effortlessly in a few months, and even climb the trees in our garden. She even started making very human like sounds, and had ‘words’ to express what she wanted, as that was her only understanding of communication.
Sadly, Stevie was mauled one afternoon by a neighbouring dog, on the one strange occasion that she dared to venture out of familiar territory. In the four years that she did live, she taught us many a lesson – one being that no obstacle was beyond overcoming.

Feet, Tigger & Nangi

Three kittens whose tenure with us was short-lived as a result of our fosterparenting schemes, but who left their mark nevertheless. Feet was christened simply because of his questionable attraction to…well… feet. You couldn’t walk by without being startled by a bundle of fur and claws shooting out from under a table and securing itself to your toes with razor-sharp teeth.
Tigger and Nangi were from a litter and were by far the cutest things we’d housed in a while. Tigger got his name from his bouncy, bossy personality and stripes, whilst Nangi was a typical little sister… pretty, demure and painfully shy.
All three came and went, but remained forever.

Lonely Bat

A brother to Tigger and Nangi, and the one that got left behind because of his obvious lack in the looks department. Initially named Bat due to his large cavernous ears and vampire features, the ‘Lonely’ stuck after he lost his siblings to other parents. If having a crooked face wasn’t bad enough, LB also had to deal with a crooked tail end, resulting in quite a bit of amused laughter from the rest of the cat neighbourhood.
With all his ugliness, LB was quite the poser. Take out your camera and he’d be there, giving it his all for the sake of a portrait shot. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the lens couldn’t bear it.

Hades

Another one of my all-time favourites. Black and beautiful, Hades had an attitude to kill. Despite the fact that he lost his family jewels thanks to my mother’s no-breeding motion, Hades ruled the roost with an iron paw. We’d often be greeted by loud complaints, should we have dared to ever leave him alone for too long, or delayed his meals. The two female cats in the house were subject to his bidding, and could be found cleaning him from head to toe right through the day, as he glowered at anyone who so much as smiled at the sight.
With all his gas, Hades was a pushover when it came to me. He couldn’t survive a day without being cuddled and cooed over, and loved hearing what a wonderful puddytat he was. He’s follow me around like a leech, never leaving my side unless there was a mouse or cat biscuits involved. By night, my stomach became his bed, and I was rarely allowed the luxury of movement until His Lordship decided it was fitting.
His attachment to me made Hades insanely jealous of any other humans getting too close…especially my boyfriend, and any time spent on the phone was promptly cut short with a protesting paw sneakily pushing on the phone buttons. Visitors were treated to threats and scoldings, right upto the time they’d leave.
Hades met his untimely demise at the hands of a bastard who drove his van over my baby’s head one fine day, when he went out for a walk down the lane. I hope that man rots in hell after a long and painful death.

Socksy

One of the two left with me at present. Socksy, silver in colour and sporting white socks and twitchy whiskers, was gifted to us by an aunt who found her lost on the street. From a loud-mouthed adolescent, she’s grown into a dignified grande dame, and spends her days ratting on the rooftop or scaring birds away. Socksy’s a bit of a scaredy-cat, and will never speak out of turn. Once in a while, when mood permits, she’ll become a pain in the neck unless you spend the whole day cuddling her and pampering her with massages.

Isis

The last feline member to have taken up permanent residency in our household. Isis was brought home by my parents while I was abroad, and I first met her when she’s been ours for almost a month. So much so that she found my presence obtrusive, and has treated me like a guest ever since. She’s tri-coloured with the most beautiful eyes, lined in black like an ancient Egyptian princess, thereby earning her the name.
Looks aside, Isis is a little druggie, addicted to Whiskas biscuits. There is much wailing and pleading to behold whenever we visit our kitchen, and she will not rest until a sufficient portion of the snack is dished out. The rest of her time is spent flirting with the line of interested tomcats next door.


There you go. My exceptionally long and arduous ode to the cats in my life. If you’ve lasted long enough to read upto the end, you, my friend, are a kindred spirit with as much affection for felis domestica as I am. I purr to you.

My Kid-dom Come.

Oh darn... its World Childrens' Day... yet another reason for those little imps to run around and scream like insatiable smurfs on Red Bull. Bah humbug and bugger it all.

I'm morose because I wish I was one of 'em... to think that back in the dim distant past I was actually yea high in height and voice and hadn't a care in the world.... not like the clinically depressed and cynical shrew I am today. I could skippety skip skip any which where I pleased, speak any obscenity I wanted to and still be entertained with an 'aww shucks how sweet'.

Thought it might be a good idea this World Childrens' Day to delve into my own childhood, and vomit back some of those dusty memories I'd banked in my mind. Heck, I was a kid once too... I deserve the celebration.

I was not the ordinary kid. Conventionalism and I have never been friends. There's always been that extra streak of inherited strangeness in me that kinda put me into a category of my own in the past, and still does today to a large extent. Born to a family that defines eccentricity, I grew up in plenty of drama, thereby learning to create it all on my own wherever I went.

To begin with, other little girs and I never got along too well. I didn't understand them, and they... well... they just thought I was wierdo. I'm putting it down to the fact that i was brought up with boys at home- lots of male cousins. And I preferred the latter to those prissy madams I was forced to deal with. For the longest time, I adored guns, cars, rough-n-tumble fighting and suchlike, and demonstrated a fair amount of disdain when it came to all those yicky sissy dolls and shit. But my mother's firm rules prevailed, and I was progressively made into a girl by hook or by crook. I eventually grew to like the barbie world... but that was more out of a competitiveness with the school mates than for the pure love of feminine ways.

But the tomboy days were the best, man! How I envied my brother and cousins when they'd dress up like ninjas and thrashed each other at rugby. I, on the other hand, got my ear twisted if I dared to climb a tree. But dare I did, and many a time too! I'd go behind these bamboo trees we had a one of the old homes, and pretend I was Darth Vader battling it out with imaginary Jedi. Many a time I'd sneak into the privacy of my room and dress up like a boy and talk in a deep voice at the mirror. I treasured the times I'd get to peddle like a maniac on my red BMX bike behind the boys in the neighbourhood, and play cricket with them. Mucking around and hurting myself was so much more fun that fussing about with toy teacups!

That's not to say I didn't enjoy my girl moments either. On the contrary, I quite enjoyed playing school and bossing around my tick of a brother in the capacity of teacher, and dressing up and stealing mother's make-up was always a blast.

But it wasn't always about the toys. My dearest childhood memories are those that cost absolutely nothing, but stayed with me forever.

• Spontaneous family picnics
• Dancing in the rain with my father
• Bathing in rivers and water spouts
• Building and flying kites on curfew days
• Plucking home-grown fruit to make delicious achcharu
• Dressing up in Mum's old flower girl outfits and pretending to be a dazzling princess on a white stallion (My dog)
• Collecting newly-laid eggs, with the compliments of our numerous pet chickens
• Gardening veggies in the back yard
• Exploring the eerie attic we once had
• Mutual head-butting with our pet calf Danny

More often than not, even though I did have my kid bro hanging around, the better part of my childhood I spent alone, enjoying the company of my imagination for the lack of friends of my gender. I KNEW alot of girls... just didn't go into too much trouble making friends with them, to the level they did with each other. I couldn't relate to the giggly holding-hands-and-whispering-about-boys thing, and preferred to be the wierd and overdramatic kid. I'd be the one to create some tall story or create some excitement and make them gasp and run away from me... like the time I chewed up brown paper into pulp, stuck it on my teeth and claimed I had leprosy of the gums. Or when I attempted to hang myself with my school tie in protest of the up-coming exams. Then there was the time I set my home-economics room on fire, trying to pass a girl guide cook's test, of all things.

My penchant for drama consistently got me into plenty of trouble as a child. Some of the strongest memories include getting pulled down from the roof of our school canteen while 'striking' about the food they served, being sent to the sickroom with regular fake-fainting episodes, staging protests outside my principal's office demanding the rights of the school cats, releasing frogs from the school lab, etc etc.

Oh there's so much more to talk of, and I wish I could, but sleep and blogspot limitations dictate otherwise. I wish i could go back in time and be that child again... the one who could live in her own little imaginary world and love it there, with little care for the woes of the world. But I can't. I'm supposedly adult now, with responsibilities and baggage.

Ah well... it was good while it lasted. I hope one of those insatiable smurfs gets to do half of what I've done, and lives to write about it someday.