Mea Culpa

I'm a terrible human being. No, really, it's true. Let me explain:

Last night I was checking up on my grad school applications, and I noticed that a letter of reference had yet to arrive from a professor who'd agreed to do it some time ago. Now, the grad office had very nicely agreed to let me apply even though the application deadline had passed a few days previously, and a month later my application remained unfinished due to the lack of said reference letter. I was thrown into a panic. My hopes and dreams for this year are very much tied up in attaining a master's degree, and if I didn't get in simply because the professor hadn't bothered to send a letter of reference ... well, what was I to do?

Now, this professor is in the physics department (my undergrad major), but the program I'm applying to is economics. My mind immediately leapt to the conclusion - wholly unsupported by any evidence - that this man had spitefully decided to withdraw his support solely because I'd turned my back on his noble profession. I wanted to call him up, shout at him, "You two-faced bucktoothed goblin, you've destroyed my year!" Revenge fantasies swam through my head: I'd take him to small-claims court, to recoup my wasted application fees; I'd hand out defamatory leaflets outside the lab; I'd stencil a black magic sigil on his office door; I'd ... this and that and all manner of other vile things.

I didn't sleep well at all last night. So strong was the pull of the negative attractor my mind had fallen into that I could find no peace.

But today, I called up. It turns out that while the application deadline is well passed, the deadline for reference letters is considerably more generous, with quite some time remaining. He simply hasn't gotten around to it yet, but only because he's your stereotypical absent-minded professor, with a head full of abstract mathematics and the weight of the underraduate program on his shoulders. Talking to him, hearing his mild voice and mannered words, I was reminded of what a pleasant and decent man he is. He's helped me before, in other manners, and is helping me again.

And I wished him ill, because ... because of fear, I suppose. And under the shadow of that fear I assumed the worst, as I so often do. And so I wished him ill, and saw a deformed and hideous part of myself that, much as I hate to acknowledge it, is indeed a part of myself. It's come to the surface before, and I'm sure it will rear it's ugly head again, sometime in the future. It seems only fair that I give that monster its due, which is why I'm telling you all about it, whether you want to know or not.

And, professor? You won't read this, nor will you ever hear about it. You won't know the awful things I thought. And nor will you know now that I'm sending a blessing your way. You deserve much better students than I.