July 9: Furry Little White Things, University Student Orientation, Paradigm

Arthur Dent has just learned that the planet Earth was actually run by white mice . . .

"Look, sorry, are we talking about the little white furry things with the cheese fixation and women standing on tables screaming in early sixties sitcoms?"

Slartibartfast coughed politely.

"Earthman," he said, "it is sometimes hard to follow your mode of speech.  Remember I have been asleep inside this planet of Magrathea for five million years and know little of these early sixties sitcoms of which you speak.  These creatures you call mice, you see, they are not quite as they appear.  They are merely the protrusion into our dimension of vastly hyperintelligent pandimensional beings.  The whole business with the cheese and squeaking is just a front."

The old man paused, and with a sympathetic frown continued.  "They've been experimenting on you, I'm afraid."

Again, this is a moment where Arthur must reevaluate his entire understanding of the ways of the universe as he knows it.  Rather than human beings experimenting on white mice, white mice have actually been conducting complex experiments on the human race.  We--the whole human race--have actually been the lab rats in this construct.

First, I must apologize for my absence yesterday.  You see, my daughter is currently undergoing her university student orientation.  Me?  I've been learning to be the parent of a first-year college student.  That means, even though I've been teaching at this school for over 25 year, I must take on a new role--worried father of a teenage girl.  In short, I am reevaluating my universe.

This orientation hasn't really required me to learn of whole lot of new information.  Today was the most stressful.  We met with someone from Financial Aid and tried to figure out what was the best way to pay for my daughter's first year of college.  It is sort of like signing for a mortgage on a new house or a loan for a new car.  I don't want to see my daughter saddled with crushing debt for the rest of her life.

That, and a few other things, have provided me with a couple of unsettling days.  Each morning, I read a plaque that is hanging on my kitchen wall:

Some days are easier than others to follow this advice.  These last two days, not so easy.  I like giving up my problems to God in the morning as I step out my front door, but then, about 10 a.m., I start taking each one back, so that, by quitting time at work, I am in a full-blown state of panic.  Then, I have to sit in my car, in the silence, and do some deep breathing.  That sometimes calms me down.  Sometimes not.

This summer, my personal life has been extremely complicated.  Much has been out of control.  The panic I experience is a side effect of me trying to regain control.  I know that I'm powerless, that I'm not in control.  However, as a human being who thinks that white mice are simply rodents in laboratory cages, I still cling to the old paradigm that I'm calling the shots in my life.  And then some big, white mouse comes along and fucks it all up.

So, forgive my little blog meltdown. 

Saint Marty is not a big fan of rodents.