hotel rwanda

I caught this on cable a few weeks ago and consequently could not sleep, it is that upsetting. They have these horrible scenes where the Don Cheadle character and his wife prepare to say good-bye, and make “in case I die” wishes to each other. Ugh, I could not stand it. It made me feel both fortunate for my current circumstances but also ashamed that people suffer so much and there is little I did/do to try to appease it. Movies can push your buttons, man. If there were a “Hotel Afghanistan,” forget it, I would be unable to the Obama’s 18-month withdrawal plan, despite the fact that I think it’s for the best. (No more gazillion dollars for unwinnable wars that don’t necessarily improve the lives of those who live near the fighting, thank you. It’s a very sensible thing Obama is advocating. This is the only news article I’ve read and retained from the last three months.)

Anyway, it’s not possible to sustain that “oh-my-god-life-is-precious-and-we-should-treasure-every-moment” feeling — it’s fleeting. Most of the time, you go back to taking stuff for granted, people for granted, transportation for granted, running water, cable, stocked supermarkets for granted. Pretty soon after seeing the picture, I started incorporating Hotel Rwanda as a personal metaphor for the torture of sleep deprivation, because I am that classy.

I doubt I could survive an ordeal like that with my spirit in tact. I can’t even handle mice, never mind massacred bodies. We have mice. Every time I see one scurry, busy on their errand of polluting my apartment, I let out a blood-curdling scream and wake everyone up, including the babies. (Husband: Could you please not scream? You know, you could choose not to feel that way. Me: Seriously? No, I can’t. It just comes out of me.)

This month, I thought I might include all the mouse poops I’ve collected in the mail along with my rent check.

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