> i wanna be just a pet
my cat; Mao, came meowing to me as i stepped home yesterday morning at 10am; back from a 24hour-edit. instinctively i felt as if she was trying to ask where my dad was ... tried to reach for her but she skuttled away. later that afternoon, as i laid limply on the livingroom sofa trying to makeout what was on the telly (just awoken from a comoatose slumber session), Mao wokeup from her nap to quietly appear next to my face. again, i felt as if she was trying to tell me or ask me something (or maybe it was the keropok i was munching on, she loves keropok! the bitch...). i spoke to my cat. i tried to tell her "papa" was in hospital and will be back soon. and i asked if she missed "papa" ... and somehow thru alla that, deep down inside, i hoped she knew what i was saying. that she understood somehow and that her questions would've been answered. and somehow there would be peace of mind ... which is exactly what i have not been having, as of late ...
my major contention of it all, with regards to my dad's hospitalization, is that no muthafcuker's been updating us at all. any and all feedback, condition status and whatever planned procedures came from my dad's mouth only! (NOT that he's bedridden or unconscious pr anything like that! he's up and about tho murses always scolds him for that) even the day before, while we awaited in the ward at fcuking 8am in the morning to ask the doctors what was going-on (as the doctors did their rounds) = what awaited me was the impatience and stoic-demeanour of the overpaid-muthafcukers. of coz i know itz all hardwork and they're taking care of my dad etc ... but i dun really give a muthafucking2shittes for these peeps. for aren't they responsible for my dad's health and wellbeing when he's in the hospital? and that somehow extends to the immediate family? and at the end of the short "explanation" (which was directed to my dad, rather than us), all i had in my mind was: "look you insensitive-fcuklesswit! you might do this on a daily basis, but my dad and us do not visit the hospital; like this, daily! what the fuck is going on? can any of you pricklessfcuks tell us what is going on? are any of you fcukwits gonna take responsibility for my dad? CAN any of you? then tell us WHO THE FUCK CAN!?" - which of coz i held my tongue ... but not for long ...not for long ...
of coz im over-reacting. of coz im scared. and that's the only reason why im tempering my reactions and actions ... dun wanna over-react and cause any unneccessary unhappines, innit? and of coz i'd not deny the fact that mayhaps alla these were requested by my dad (for fear of worrying us too much). and of coz i'd be a fool to think my dad isn't scared as well. we spend so much time worrying for others' feelings and emotions, that in the endup doing more "harm" than "care", innit? and in the end, speculation rules the day ...
a similar fate (speculation) which parallels my past few days of work/edit. a thin line drawn between what i feel to be basic requirements and creative work ... and what is expected from the executive producers. to see their muthafuckingfaces when they dropped in unscheduled, to provide comments on my as-yet-unfinished-edit = left me with a desire for murderdeathkill so red, they boiled deep within me so - "creative disagreements" is such a dirtyword and excuse in the realm of the media. what they think is good visuals is a piece of drivelled-shitte to me and visa-versa. and what they think is basic-tv is nothing but inexperienced and slack media-journalism to me, and visa-versa ... but like at the doctor's in SGH, i bottleup alla my fury, disdain and disgust and kept my blardy mouth shut.
what have i turned into? what have i become? this is not me ...
was i that tired? (yes) am i that patient? (yes+no) am i being stubborn? (no - just realistic, maybe?)
looking at my dog, Dino and her seemingly obliviousness of it all, to my dad being not at home and to the general sombre mood the family's going thru - i marvel and envy her. "i'm hungry" ... "please feed me" ... "please i need to go for a walk" and she skuttles around tail-wagging and wanting huggies and cuddles ... which i hardly had given her the last few days. sometimes; how i wish i could be them. to not have a care in the world beyond that which they are accustomed to. eat. sleep. make merry in their own way. to not care about the material world. to just be happy in the love and embrace of ones who care for them ...
but maybe both Mao and Dino are not that "unaffected" as we'd/i'd like to think they are ... tis very obvious Mao cares more openly for my dad, or even me/us. remembering when i threwup during my dizzydrama, or how she'd stay awake vigilant by my dad's side when he couldn't sleep at night and hadda sit at the livingroom sofa. and how she'd sit on my dad's chair the day when my dad was first admitted in SGH. can see she loves my dad and i would very much like to reassure her and tell her everything's gonna be fine and that she shouldn't worry ... and how i'd wish someone would tell us that too ...
... and to tell Dino that; itz not that we dun love her now (apparantly she was an abused doggie and came to us frightened and abit psycho - basturd-previous-owner!) and that we're not saving our cuddles for her ... itz just that the past few days weren't happy carefree days ... also recognizing the instances where im moping and/or in tears in my room, she'd skuttle in and stare at me, not even jumping up on my lap for huggies (like she usually does), like a silent sharing and understanding of my emotions ...
... or maybe im thinking too much into it all, again, as usual? ... or maybe im just grasping at "answers" again? i know not and am too fcuking tired (physically and emotionally) to delve into the mysteries that surround us living breathing things ... im just too tired ... and scared ...
my major contention of it all, with regards to my dad's hospitalization, is that no muthafcuker's been updating us at all. any and all feedback, condition status and whatever planned procedures came from my dad's mouth only! (NOT that he's bedridden or unconscious pr anything like that! he's up and about tho murses always scolds him for that) even the day before, while we awaited in the ward at fcuking 8am in the morning to ask the doctors what was going-on (as the doctors did their rounds) = what awaited me was the impatience and stoic-demeanour of the overpaid-muthafcukers. of coz i know itz all hardwork and they're taking care of my dad etc ... but i dun really give a muthafucking2shittes for these peeps. for aren't they responsible for my dad's health and wellbeing when he's in the hospital? and that somehow extends to the immediate family? and at the end of the short "explanation" (which was directed to my dad, rather than us), all i had in my mind was: "look you insensitive-fcuklesswit! you might do this on a daily basis, but my dad and us do not visit the hospital; like this, daily! what the fuck is going on? can any of you pricklessfcuks tell us what is going on? are any of you fcukwits gonna take responsibility for my dad? CAN any of you? then tell us WHO THE FUCK CAN!?" - which of coz i held my tongue ... but not for long ...not for long ...
of coz im over-reacting. of coz im scared. and that's the only reason why im tempering my reactions and actions ... dun wanna over-react and cause any unneccessary unhappines, innit? and of coz i'd not deny the fact that mayhaps alla these were requested by my dad (for fear of worrying us too much). and of coz i'd be a fool to think my dad isn't scared as well. we spend so much time worrying for others' feelings and emotions, that in the endup doing more "harm" than "care", innit? and in the end, speculation rules the day ...
a similar fate (speculation) which parallels my past few days of work/edit. a thin line drawn between what i feel to be basic requirements and creative work ... and what is expected from the executive producers. to see their muthafuckingfaces when they dropped in unscheduled, to provide comments on my as-yet-unfinished-edit = left me with a desire for murderdeathkill so red, they boiled deep within me so - "creative disagreements" is such a dirtyword and excuse in the realm of the media. what they think is good visuals is a piece of drivelled-shitte to me and visa-versa. and what they think is basic-tv is nothing but inexperienced and slack media-journalism to me, and visa-versa ... but like at the doctor's in SGH, i bottleup alla my fury, disdain and disgust and kept my blardy mouth shut.
what have i turned into? what have i become? this is not me ...
was i that tired? (yes) am i that patient? (yes+no) am i being stubborn? (no - just realistic, maybe?)
looking at my dog, Dino and her seemingly obliviousness of it all, to my dad being not at home and to the general sombre mood the family's going thru - i marvel and envy her. "i'm hungry" ... "please feed me" ... "please i need to go for a walk" and she skuttles around tail-wagging and wanting huggies and cuddles ... which i hardly had given her the last few days. sometimes; how i wish i could be them. to not have a care in the world beyond that which they are accustomed to. eat. sleep. make merry in their own way. to not care about the material world. to just be happy in the love and embrace of ones who care for them ...
but maybe both Mao and Dino are not that "unaffected" as we'd/i'd like to think they are ... tis very obvious Mao cares more openly for my dad, or even me/us. remembering when i threwup during my dizzydrama, or how she'd stay awake vigilant by my dad's side when he couldn't sleep at night and hadda sit at the livingroom sofa. and how she'd sit on my dad's chair the day when my dad was first admitted in SGH. can see she loves my dad and i would very much like to reassure her and tell her everything's gonna be fine and that she shouldn't worry ... and how i'd wish someone would tell us that too ...
... and to tell Dino that; itz not that we dun love her now (apparantly she was an abused doggie and came to us frightened and abit psycho - basturd-previous-owner!) and that we're not saving our cuddles for her ... itz just that the past few days weren't happy carefree days ... also recognizing the instances where im moping and/or in tears in my room, she'd skuttle in and stare at me, not even jumping up on my lap for huggies (like she usually does), like a silent sharing and understanding of my emotions ...
... or maybe im thinking too much into it all, again, as usual? ... or maybe im just grasping at "answers" again? i know not and am too fcuking tired (physically and emotionally) to delve into the mysteries that surround us living breathing things ... im just too tired ... and scared ...
