The voice continued.
"Please do not be alarmed," it said, "by anything you see or hear around you. You are bound to feel some initial ill effects as you have been rescued from certain death at an improbability level of two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand to one against--possibly much higher. We are now cruising at a level of two to the power of twenty-five thousand to one against and falling, and we will be restoring normality just as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway. Thank you. Two to the power of twenty thousand to one against and falling."
The voice cut out.
Ford and Arthur were in a small luminous pink cubicle.
Ford was wildly excited.
"Arthur!" he said, "this is fantastic! We've been picked up by a ship powered by the Infinite Improbability Drive! This is incredible! I heard rumors about it before! They were all officially denied, but they must have done it! They've built the Improbability Drive! Arthur, this is . . . Arthur? What's happening?"
Arthur had jammed himself against the door to the cubicle, trying to hold it closed, but it was ill fitting. Tiny furry little hands were squeezing themselves through the cracks, their fingers were ink-stained; tiny voices chattered insanely.
Arthur looked up.
"Ford!" he said, "there's an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they've worked out."
Improbability Drive. That seems like the engine that's been powering my life for the last couple months. Of course, for Arthur and Ford, improbability saved their lives. Plus, Adams alludes to the infinite monkey theorem, which posits that a monkey hitting random keys on a keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost certainly create any given text--the Bible, War and Peace, or Hamlet.
Of course, improbability doesn't always have positive results. It can create awful circumstances, as well. Disasters. Car accidents. Trumpian elections. Job loss. Life loss. You name it. Now, I'm not going to be doing a lot of hand-wringing in this post. Nor will I be throwing myself on a fainting couch, exclaiming, "Woe is me!" I'm not even going to talk about the headache that has plagued me all day long. Nope.
What I want to talk about for a few moments is the improbability of friends. I know a lot of people whom I consider really good friends. Yesterday afternoon, I spent some time with a friend who performs healing sessions. She taught me techniques to relax, to redirect the energies in my body. When I left her, I was more centered than I have felt in a long time. Last night, the members of my book club came over, and we ate and laughed and discussed books and played a game. This, too, was really healing.
Good friends are remarkable gifts. Last week, when I was feeling particularly low, one of my really good friends simply started texting me out of the blue with crazy, funny observations and jokes. For about an hour, we traded literary bon mots back and forth. My friend had no idea that I was one step away from joining Holden in the rye field at the time. He just reached out and reminded me that I was loved.
I am in the middle of my long teaching night. In about a half hour, I will be heading downstairs for my evening class. Not feeling particularly inspired or inspiring. Thank God a good portion of the class will be taken up with watching and discussing a Michael Moore documentary. Right before I sat down to type this post, I got a comment on a Facebook post from another friend. It simply said, "I hope you feel better soon."
It's these kinds of things, arriving at the most improbable moments in my life, that keep me sane and calm. They remind me that all is not lost. (In fact, my friend who did the healing session planted that little seed with me as I was leaving her house. That kind of blew me away, because, all weekend long, I'd been nursing this nagging thought: "I am a complete failure." And then this friend gave me a spiritual injection of hope.)
I am really tired tonight. Tomorrow at the medical office, I have to train somebody to replace me. This person has no idea about all the things I do, and in two days' time, I'm supposed to show her everything. I'm not feeling particularly . . . helpful at the moment. In fact, I would describe my attitude as bordering on hostile.
Yet, I will help this replacement as best I can. I will appear positive and supportive. This is something I learned from another good friend who's a therapist. When facing difficult circumstances, this friend suggested that you "fake it 'til you make it." In other words, pretend to be positive and helpful until you either become positive and helpful, or the work day ends. I will be faking a lot tomorrow, per my friend's advice.
Saint Marty is going to be faking it in the classroom tonight, too.
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