Now I know why I used to say that, and what it hid.
That’s what I’m doing just now.
Here’s where the string of choices starts. I’m at best an agnostic with an apparently sincere offer from Dr. Runner of Dordt College for a scholarship. Based on my understanding of his lecture about Dooyeveert and Modal–Relativity. There are many ways to approach that and some are actually nearly intrinsically valid. However one must include that the most used method of transaction uses relativistic measures as if they were absolute, and the network (society) which depends upon that must use the same blindness. I had been hovering on agnosticism for a long time. I had thought of the modal bit the summer before, although there were delightful ramifications here that could possibly fit with other things.
Could I possibly accept the offer and be honest? [Long later, yes, you ass. He even knew.]
My adopted parents offered college on the basis of my grade point average. Could I depend upon them? No. My aunt might even manage to make me get bad grades (she managed that in…freshman year, where I said the “fuck it” thing and went that route, which got me a psychiatrist–a delightful friend, nothing about therapy, sorry–a long talk with various people and then I went to filling out things that I already knew…the patterns of the motivations of those who wrote the questions, got homework done in 15 minutes a day, unless it was unusually hard, 20, math was hopeless; I could program a calculator or a computer but…even with a calculator…so that at the end I got over 3.5, yay) or do what she hinted she would have done, mandated I quit smoking.
Fifteen minutes. The teachers were running from me, terrified of my questions. I was mad or I was something else. Every teacher I asked about my intelligence looked at me in a terrified way (you are crazy, bud) and managed to bolt.
The Armed Forces had a row of offices; Navy and Marine, Army, Air Force–or maybe during Vietnam they actually let the Marines have their own office. I walked toward them; relatively short-haired, probably smoking a cigarette, neatly dressed (I was a dependent, after all; freedom was a word invented later), school books in hand [that’s bull shit, if anything I had a book I was reading]. I swear their ears moved up. I went to the Navy office, and the others gradually drooped. Whidbey Island is cool enough that air conditioning isn’t the norm, or at least that’s the way it was, word has it that things have warmed there too as the sea rises, crumbling the island more rapidly just as the ant hill moves to bare it and sit atop it.
They had a thing called a GCT test, you see. That’s sort of like saying an SSD* drive, but whatever. General Classification Test. test. Whatever. *Solid State Drive
I had two things in mind. I knew I loved the sea, a story I may later tell. That GCT was derived from the Stanford-Binet. Directly. Otherwise you had to pay more money than I conveniently had.
As expected I can’t do this any more today. I have a severe head ache. I’ve been lifting my arms somewhat and lowering my head and I’m engendering consequently a roaring headache…