The Robots Are Taking Over

 

Daleks, symbols of evil (Doctor Who)

The demons were swarming.

Oh, had I started writing earlier in the day there would probably be a darker tone to this. Now, as I write close to 11 p.m. I find myself simply repeating mantras about things that I can't control.

Hours ago it would have been a look into a black soul and a broadcasting career that felt like it was in the toilet. I've put so much into caring about each game -- each broadcast -- and I can't control what's not in my hands, no matter how much it impacts me financially. I cared about what airs and the quality of it. I get nuts over things that don't air. 

Why do I care so much? Is it just time to stop caring? Like, is it time to just give up?

There are things to think about and decisions that need to be made.

Somehow I have to get my mind wrapped around the idea that it will all be fine. That it will work itself out.

And then I got a robotic litter box.

Yes. That sentence is real.

While I've been looking at them and considering the cost (they're not cheap, friends) my niece Stephanie told me that she had an older one that our dear Rascal can try and have to use. As the plus side to a robotic little box is reducing the smell, I was all in.

Soon the windows can be opened but, until then, I'm very much in favor of trying this out.

Her cats love them.

We saw one for literally five seconds. I'm not kidding. Peanut Butter Dragon was gone and stayed under her bed the rest of the time we were there. But Gunter -- her new Maine Coon -- entertained us while we talked.

He's like Rascal 2.0.

This also had us back in the Hudson Valley, in the shadow of Dutchess Stadium.

We'll be back there soon enough. Yes, including me, as I just have to finalize my schedule.

Basketball awaits tomorrow, as Brunswick plays Greenwich Country Day at 5 p.m. for the FAA Championship. It should be fantastic and I'm happy to call it.

It's nice to be wanted.