Special Blog Correspondent Birdie S. Caped rants about probability and college-dormitory placement systems.
I recently received my housing assignment for college. I got my last choice–a classic triple! Three guys in the smallest room with no air conditioning is suffocating beyond imagination, and I have to share a public bathroom, which consists of eight toilets and showers, with fifty of my floormates. Undoubtedly, the Housing Administrators did not even bother to read my housing application and consider my preferences. If they did, they made a mistake while finishing their sandwiches. Either way, I could only believe that I am truly . . . unlucky.
Probability was inherently my enemy. Every unlikely circumstance happens, and every likely circumstance does not happen. Plans go astray unbelievably often. Anybody so unlucky would be scared to go out on a stormy night because it is likely that the unlikely circumstance of being stricken by lightning will happen. Betrayed by all odds, or upset about my inability to limit the randomness, I once innocently became a perfectionist. Then, I learned that perfectionism is impossible, which is simply an easy, unchallengeable compromise. I have been fed up with the bad luck successively running into me and the housing situation served as the final blow. Now, I decided to not even care about the probability and its outcome but focus on the process and entertainment. Blaming all shortcomings on luck and trying to induce the best result through calculations, indeed, are tedious and childish. I became a lively, hedonistic corpse, who does only what he yearns, . . . with two roommates in close proximity.
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