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Warning: Look. I’m whining here. Don’t take it personally.

Depressed. It’s my off day. So I shouldn’t be. But I’m depressed BECAUSE it’s my off day.

BECAUSE I’ve time on my hands.

BECAUSE I should be trying to find information on what I want to do.

BECAUSE I don’t know what to do.

BECAUSE I don’t know what I’m doing.

Great. I wrote “because” so many times now it looks like it has the wrong spelling.

If I’m working I would give myself the excuse that I don’t have time to search for these kinds of stuff. But know that I’m home with the whole day (half the day has passed) on my hands and the reality is that I have no idea what to do or search for is coming down on me hard.

That is why I get terrible headaches on my off days.

Crap. I supposed to relax on off days. Not getting headaches and feeling more stressed than when I’, working.

Then to curb this headache I indulge in brainless mind washing to numb the pain.

Then when it’s over, so is the day.

Then I go back to work the next day and tell myself: “I must find something more conclusive to do with my life on my NEXT off day.”

And the cycle begins again.

Humans

I wanted to write about my first boat trip. And also my convocation. But those things are SO long overdue that I don’t really remember the feelings I had to effectively put them down on paper. I’ll try to write if anyone still wants to know, or I’ll tell them in person, yeah? ^^

Learning from this mistake I’m going to write down whatever whenever I get the feel for it. Haha.

So.

Warning. Sad story.

There was this cat today. The people who brought him in weren’t his owners, yet they were willing to pay for his treatment. The sad thing was, his prognosis was deadly poor, and it was wiser to just opt of PTS. At this point, they insisted that they rather the cat be given treatment, and be given the chance to pull himself through.

It was sad. To see the cat struggle while we tried to help him, believing, no doubt that human beings are going to deliver hurt to him again. Then while he was anaesthetized, while the wound cleaning was underway, his body started to cool. Why did I not take note of this? Maybe if I had given him some towels or external source of warmth he would have pulled through. But then again, the extra unnecessary things on the table would have just obstructed the objective and prolog the GA, further endangering his life.

By the time the cleaning was over, we suddenly noticed that he stopped breathing. The doctor gave him an injection to hasten his slowing heart and pumped him full of oxygen to aid his breathing. He did. It was then I realized his body felt as if he was just taken out from a refrigerator. Immediately we started to prepare the hot water gloves to attempt to warm him up, but he did not survive long enough to let us do it.

How did he end up in such a state? I supposed he should blame himself for being born in a neighborhood where many people disliked felines. It was suspected that somebody poured hot OIL, not water, over him, as water would have dried and only left him with burns.

But no, someone had to use OIL. Oil, which would clump his fur together, too scalding to allow him to lick it off. The oil made his fir sticky, and matted, and allowed for bacteria growth. These bacteria then infected his broken epidermis, preventing his already impossible self recovery.

I don’t get why some people can stand doing things like this. Do they have no heart? Would they do the same to human beings if they disliked them? Or do they think that they are so great that animals are inferior?

I’ve met an owner who told of his experience meeting such an idiot. The owner caught him kicking his dog out of the way, and when he asked why had the man kicked the dog, the man said:

“I don’t like dogs.”

Hearing this, the owner promptly slapped the guy in the face and said:

“I don’t like humans.”

Bravo.