"You mean the way the sea stays steady as a rock and the buildings keep washing up and down?" said Ford. "Yes, I thought that was odd too. In fact," he continued as with a huge bang Southend split itself into six equal segments which danced and spun giddily round each other in lewd and licentious formations, "there is something altogether very strange going on."
Wild yowling noises of pipes and strings seared through the wind, hot doughnuts popped out of the road for ten pence each, horrid fish stormed out of the sky and Arthur and Ford decided to make a run for it.
They plunged through heavy walls of sound, mountains of archaic thought, valleys of mood music, bad shoe sessions and footling bats and suddenly heard a girl's voice.
It sounded quite a sensible voice, but it just said, "Two to the power of one hundred thousand to one against and falling," and that was all.
Ford skidded down a beam of light and spun round trying to find a source for the voice but could see nothing he could seriously believe in.
"What was that voice?" shouted Arthur.
"I don't know," yelled Ford, "I don't know. It sounded like a measurement of probability."
"Probability? What do you mean?"
"Probability. You know, like two to one, three to one, five to four against. It said two to the power of one hundred thousand to one against. That's pretty improbable, you know."
A million-gallon vat of custard upended itself over them without warming.
"But what does it mean?" cried Arthur.
"What, the custard?"
"No, the measurement of improbability!"
"I don't know. I don't know at all. I think we're on some kind of spaceship."
"I can only assume," said Arthur, "that this is not the first-class compartment."
Bulges appeared in the fabric of space-time. Great ugly bulges.
Welcome to the end of my improbably terrible work week. In the space of five days, I found out that I didn't have a job that I wanted, woke up on my living room couch being tended by two men in uniforms that I'd never met before, and accepted a job that I'm not excited about but need for the insurance. In the midst of all that, I've had daily splitting headaches, took down my Christmas decorations, and pored over close to five hundred pages of medical charges to compile a report for my supervisor that I didn't know I was supposed to compile.
If all that sounds really horrible, let me assure you: it was. My mind is Jell-O. I'm emotionally drained. My motto this whole day has been fairly simple: "Fuck it all." After this week's series of unfortunate events, I wouldn't have been surprised if Gertrude Stein had appeared at my office door and asked to borrow a cup of sugar to make Alice Toklas a batch of blueberry scones. Anything seems possible.
The one bright side of these last few days has been my friends. I've been contacted by so many friends who've expressed concern and help, offered advice, or just reminded me that I'm loved. When you're in the eye of the hurricane, it's kind of difficult to keep yourself from losing sight of what grounds you. You're too busy nailing your doors and windows shut. But I have been overwhelmed with kindness.
This morning, while I was compiling that stupid data, I actually started crying. Don't worry. I was locked in an office by myself. Nobody witnessed it. I think it had to do with exhaustion, trying to hold myself together these past few days. The sheer amount of work for the report played a factor, as well. And then there were the communications from friends and family. Texts. Comments on Facebook. E-mails. Conversations on Facebook Messenger. I was gobsmacked with grace. All of those things combined to give me a nice little ten-minute breakdown.
I can't say that I'm happy right now. That would be a lie. However, because of my friends and family, I can say that I am blessed. Even if the universe seems to be dumping a million-gallon vat of custard on top of me, I have a whole lot of people with spoons and shovels to dig me out. In fact, one of those people bought me a beer last night, because she knows that I am in the middle of this Sisyphean struggle (plus she loves me a whole lot).
This is what life is all about, I think. Grace in the storm. Love when you're drowning. People who remind you what God's face looks like.
Saint Marty has seen that face a lot this week.
Drowning in custard is still drowning :-/ Love and virtual hugs and fingers crossed for a custard worthy raft in the near future.
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