Journal Entry One
I have decided to start journaling. I must confess that the activity feels rather foreign, as I have never been one to scratch out my thoughts on paper, at least not such personal thoughts. Chronicling facts or one’s ideas might be easy enough, I suppose, but there’s something about a diary that feels peculiarly feminine. I don’t know why. Yet that’s my sense of the matter. But if this is going to be a journal- a real journal- then I’m off to a marvelous start; I’m getting in touch with my feelings.
I’m currently sitting at desk in a small room with a singular window. Outside the window I can see trees dotting a simple landscape. To my right rests a bed. This is my room for the next 41 weeks.
I reside in the third wing of the Institute, section A-Q, to be exact. Here is where students in residency subsist. This is what I have been striving after for so very long now. And it feels good to have made it.
My daily details are diverse, though unified under a general head. I am called to help people. When I am not reading charts or analyzing data, I’m observing patients, carefully documenting behavior. I feel like a soldier on the front lines combating a resilient foe.
When I reflect on this cause, the great quest known as progress, I cannot help but envision a torch in our hands. We are running a race, beating our bodies, as it were, so as to obtain the prize: A world made perfect. I often think of this, when the hours grow long. What will society look like once all of the deleterious memes are made extinct? It is a glorious thought. I envision the nations of the earth gathered together, unified at last, one government established over us all. Education will flourish, dispelling the ignorance of bygone superstitions. Reason will be our light, making straight the path. Science will sit upon the throne. Man- autonomous man- will finally obtain his full potentiality. It is the end for which we were so wonderfully, but accidentally made.
Oh, how I look forward to that time when parochial loyalties and inflexible ideologies are transcended. I’m almost getting goose bumps just thinking of it.
I suppose much of this is due to my having had the privilege of hearing Dr. Asimov lecture so eloquently last evening. There we were, filling the auditorium to maximum capacity. All of the staff was present, with not so much as one absent. I am even told that a number of outside dignitaries graced the service. I could not see him from my vantage point, but Jamison directed my stare to an upper balcony, where the president of Holland sat. I am also fairly certain that I could see the shadowy outline of Lady Penrose near the front. Her hat is a dead giveaway.
It is hard to describe the sublimity of Dr. Asimov’s message. His brilliance is second to none. For over an hour we sat captivated, the silence broken only with sudden outbreaks of roaring applause. He spoke on ethics, on religion, on the world community, and on the state of humanity as a whole. Each point proved to be a wellspring of not only hope, but of directives. That night we received marching orders, and I suspect that each in attendance felt rejuvenated.
Such is the power and influence of Dr. Asimov. Many can speak well, but few back it up with such such outpourings of action, both political and judicial. There are so many things accomplished by this man. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books.
I am just now looking down at my watch. It is nearly time to administer medications. I must be going. I do hope Kathy can land a vein more successfully with the patients this time. I am not a fan of needles, let alone blood.
Subscribe to Gentle Reformation
Get the latest posts delivered right to your inbox