It’s possible, I suppose, that the universe could conspire against one person. That seems unlikely though. The universe is a big place, and whoever or whatever is in charge must be hands full with management tasks. Getting innumerable suns to rise over innumerable horizons, for instance, must be a piece of work. And that’s just for starters, so it’s hard for me to sustain an argument that I’ve been targeted for special punishment.
Mounting said argument is, however, surprisingly easy. I’m particularly susceptible to such sophistry in the midst of an attack of cranial rectal syndrome, the symptoms of which leave me like Billy Crystal’s character in “Forget Paris,” kicking Kareem Abdul Jabaar off the basketball court in the midst of his farewell tour (along with all the other people on the court.) Far from being insane myself, I am simply trying to restore sanity to a world gone mad. Folly, for sure.
Whether this folly is entertaining or depressing is the balance in which my mental state hangs. To my chagrin, my innate qualities tend to tip the scales to the anxious side, and I don’t hold out much hope that this state of things will change. I do, however, draw hope that a supernatural thumb can and does come down on the other side. Sure, there is no reason why the universe should stack up for me any more than it is bound to stack up against me. But for lack of belief that it stacks up at all, I’ll hold out in the hope that it’s on our side.