January 14: Horse and Groom, Forecast for Orlando, Jedi Mind Game

Ford Prefect, visitor from Betelgeuse, is trying to convince Arthur Dent to abandon his stand to save his house from being demolished.  Ford seems to think that what he has to tell Arthur is more important and requires the consumption of alcohol . . .

Ford stared at Arthur, who began to think that perhaps he did want to go to the Horse and Groom after all.

"But what about my house . . .?" he asked plaintively.

Ford looked across to Mr. Prosser, and suddenly a wicked thought struck him.

"He wants to knock your house down?"

"Yes, he wants to build . . ."

"And he can't because you're lying in front of the bulldozer?"

"Yes, and . . ."

"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," said Ford.  "Excuse me!" he shouted.

Mr. Prosser (who was arguing with a spokesman for the bulldozer drivers about whether or not Arthur Dent constituted a mental health hazard, and how much they should get paid if he did) looked around.  He was surprised and slightly alarmed to find that Arthur had company.

"Yes?  Hello?" he called.  "Has Mr. Dent come to his senses yet?"

"Can we for the moment," called Ford, "assume that he hasn't?"

"Well?" sighed Mr. Prosser.

"And can we also assume," said Ford, "that he's going to be staying here all day?"

"So?"

"So, all your men are going to be standing around all day doing nothing?"

"Could be, could be."

"Well, if you're resigned to doing that anyway, you don't actually need him to be here all the time do you?"

"What?"

"You don't," said Ford patiently, "actually need him here."

Mr. Prosser thought about this.

"Well no, not as such . . ." he said, "no exactly need . . ."  Prosser was worried.  He thought that one of them wasn't making a lot of sense.

Ford said, "So if you would just like to take it as read that he's actually here, then he and I could slip off down to the pub for half an hour.  How does that sound."

Mr. Prosser thought it sounded perfectly potty.

"That sounds perfectly reasonable," he said in a reassuring tone of voice, wondering who he was trying to reassure.

"And if you want to pop off for a quick one yourself later on," said Ford, "we can always cover up for you in return."

"Thank you very much," said Mr. Prosser, who no longer knew how to play this at all, "thank you very much, yes, that's very kind . . ."  He frowned, then smiled, then tried to do both at once, failed, grasped hold of his fur hat and rolled it fitfully round the top of his head.  He could only assume that he had just won.

Ford really wants Arthur to join him for a drink.  The only way Ford can make this happen is to perform some kind of Jedi mind trick of Mr. Prosser.  (I know I'm mixing sci-fi universes here, but the comparison seems apt.)  Mr. Prosser needs to be taken care of, and Ford is doing just that.

The first day of a new semester.  I just finished teaching my mythology class, and, in less than an hour, I will be heading off to my night class--second semester composition.  This morning, when my alarm went off at 4:45, I actually rolled over and thought about calling in sick.  I didn't.  Then, as I was getting ready in the bathroom, I checked the weather forecast for Orlando.  High of 77 degrees.  At the medical office, I spent a good deal of my time dealing with computer issues, and checking the wait times for rides at the Magic Kingdom.  At 10:45 a.m., the Haunted Mansion wait time was down to ten minutes. 

And now it's snowing outside, and I have to face a classroom filled with students who want to be anywhere but in a classroom.  They're going to be thinking about dinner or Netflix or their boyfriends/girlfriends.  Basically, I am an obstacle tonight, standing between them and what they really want to do.  That's the challenge of teaching a writing class for three hours at night.

The other challenge is working up my enthusiasm.  My mind is still at Walt Disney World, in the sun and warmth.  I have to play some kind of Jedi mind trip on myself AND my students tonight. 

I always find it difficult slipping back into my routine after a prolonged break.  I rarely get away from all my worries and tensions.  Usually, I pack them along with my swimsuit.  They ride in first class with me, eat the warm nuts, drink rum and Coke. 

It's a matter of convincing myself that I enjoy my work.  That I'm not tired down in my bones.  That what I do every day somehow makes a difference in the world.

That's the Jedi mind trip Saint Marty needs right now.