There Goes Bill!

HERE WE GO.

It would almost be appropriate to include an arch in every university under which the only entrance to the school is located. Engraved around the top would be a simple phrase: “The Rabbit Hole.” That would be a nice warning of the long, confusing journey that is to follow.

One of the most striking similarities between my stay here and Alice’s adventure is my inability to understand the logic of the inhabitants of this land—namely, professors. Each teacher seems to have their own perception of reality, time, and importance. Typically, they believe all three are at their infinite disposal. Even when I feel that I have got the hang of things, I find myself facing dead ends and dead stares. My Design I professors have constantly stressed the ability to look at things holistically and without subjectivity, and at one point I was certain that I had accomplished this. The result was not unlike Alice’s attempt to reason with the Queens’ perception of “subtraction”; “ ‘Then you think nothing would remain?’ said the Red Queen. ‘I think that’s the answer.’ ‘Wrong, as usual,’ said the Red Queen” (Alice 254). Only this time it is my temper that remains, not the dog’s.

JUST WHEN YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND THE PROBLEM, YOU FIND THERE ISN'T AN ANSWER

At other times it seems that I’m working my fingers to the bone to stay in a caucus race. There is one such teacher that coins himself as the leader, and it isn’t without a degree of accuracy. Why just the other day (or is my memory working backwards? It really would be more pleasant that way) we were told to prepare for a test with minute intervals per question, and minute details for answers! The challenge was (or is?) so maddening that I found myself reading in circles. Hopefully by the time the test comes, I’ll “[have] done all the screaming already,” although I fear that I’ll “have it all over again” when the grade is returned (Alice 198).

THE BROOCH IS THE TEST, AND MY FINGER IS...WELL, MY FINGER! SO...

WHY ARE WE DOING THIS AGAIN?

And how can I ignore the almost unnerving blur between the fact and assumption that puzzles me each day in biology? When I raise my hand to ask a question, I feel like I’m crawling down a chimney towards an enormous shoe. “There goes Bill!” I can almost hear the class say as the teacher scolds me for not paying attention (Alice 43). I only wish that I could nibble on my left handed mushroom to escape the glares of my peers (Alice 52). Still, even if my question is relevant and shared by the minds of my fellow students, the result, though less embarrassing, is more confusing. The answers to my inquiries rival those of the mad hatter in their ambiguity. I swear that I’ve even heard the following answer, adapted from the annotations of Alice: “Because there’s a b in both, and because there’s an n in neither” (Alice 72). My follow up question, of course, was “Does that mean there’s an e in each?” (Alice 72). The teacher wasn’t sure.

THERE GOES RUSS!

So as the days wind on I find myself changing sizes to fit the needs and standards of these strange rulers of an imaginary land, and I feel as genuine as a calf in a shell. Hopefully I’ll not consider my verdict of this detached reality before the evidence is evidenced. Still, I feel that the closest I’ve come to success thus far is the remembering of my name. One day I’ll wake up from this dreamy state and long to return to wonderland (just as Alice’s sister does), but this doesn’t help my current dilemma. Right now my goal is to simply survive the first years; the rest, I’m told, is sure to follow. It truly is a wonderful experience, and it is a shame that it is as temporary as Lewis Carroll’s love for little girls. Hopefully I won't hear the bitter voice of the queen as I walk the line five years from now: “—and just take his head off outside” (Alice 116). Wish me luck.