I’ve always thought Thursdays are special. Not only is it the last day before Friday, the last night of homework (and the most intense), and the first day when we roll over the peak of the week—the half way point, but it’s also the day when Arthur Dent witnessed the destruction of Earth, as well as his little town house he had refused to let collapse. Ah Hitchhiker’s Guide, there is no word strong enough to describe your brilliance.
And now because of the series, every Thursday I think about Arthur Dent, and in every math class I have to correct my thinking before I write “42” for every answer. And every once in a while, I contemplate the very existence of the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, and how the problems with time travel work out so that the restaurant doesn’t have to be the size of a small galaxy in order to house every person from every planet from every point in time, when I realize that it’s just a fictional story, and the restaurant can’t exist anyway.
I reality. It kills the imagination, and yet inspires it at the same time. What a depressing contradiction. ...now I feel like Marvin.
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