my own private hell

Today in the quest for family friendly television programming (and by family, I mean me and Erik, of course, cuz the cats don't really seem to care...) I tuned into last night's Amazing Race. I'm not exactly sure why I tape the Race because even watching it makes me tense. I can only imagine being a part of it. I guess that's my problem. I can't not imagine being a part of it. In my imagination I am forced to compete by Satan. Or perhaps, if I'm feeling particularly Catholic, maybe I'm just in purgatory atoning for my sins... Obviously I am NEVER eliminated. I spend my eternity hungry and dirty, constantly in airports, in a hurry, in a panic, often getting yelled at by someone I love. I'm almost certain I'm either dehydrated or frantically searching for a clean place to pee. And when I am not in a rush, I am bored and home sick. If the Amazing Race was fixed and I was somehow guaranteed that I would win, I still wouldn't participate. A million dollars is not enough money to force me to travel the world. At least not under those conditions. And not with today's exchange rate.

I must say, though, I laughed out loud when Nicolas commented that his grandfather's successful crossing of the muddy bog (in his underwear) proved "that frustration and anger pays off in the end."

Alternatively, I imagine I might spend eternity having my body pecked apart by the demonic reincarnations of the bazillion birds my cats have killed. Today I spared myself at least one attacker, however, as I discovered OC with his prey still intact. Monkey thought his uncle was pretty cool to bring a bird in the house. Then they both suffered the ultimate injustice of being restrained and detained while the bird went free. Monkey is currently expressing his lingering disappointment by playing a particularly vigorous version of a game we like to call "Bite and Kick." It's a game I used to play with Blackers but he would consistently bite my hand and kick my forearm. No matter how often I redirect him, Monkey ultimately kicks my hand and works his way up to the tender back side of my upper arm for better biting. Sometimes he even nips the neighboring boob. I know, I am creating a monster.

A monster who once again has graced the litter box with his presence while I sat here typing. So I guess I'm off to deal with that. Another version of my own private hell...