It's true.  For almost 30 years of my life, worry over the Berlin Wall snaked across my brain in a narrow ribbon just a few neurons wide yet completely impermeable to that native happiness yearning to breathe free. 
     At one end was the knowledge that WWIII almost broke out over the Wall's construction in August, 1961 as U.S. and Soviet tanks faced off a stone's throw apart. 
     At the other end was the belief that any species with a history like ours could no more avoid thermonuclear holocaust than someone falling down a mine shaft could avoid eventually splattering at the bottom.
     Nine years in one grade school left this worry over the Wall undented.
     Four years in high school and years more in college failed to reduce the height of my worry one little bit.
     After seven years of marriage similarly left it unscathed, it seemed a worry built for the ages - something that would remain poking up from the ruins of my skull centuries from now the way the pyramids poke up from the sands of ancient Egypt.
     Then suddenly it was November, 1989, and the Berlin Wall was, like, gone.
     I've been hard at work trying to find other uses for this narrow ribbon of brain cells ever since....

     Well, I think I've finally found a good use for this wasted head space.
     And I don't think I even need to haul away the broken misconceptions or cut down all the weedy whims clogging it first.  In fact, doing so might only impede my progress by clearing my vision - and who in their right mind needs that??

     Here's the scoop.
     There's a college about 90 miles to my north.  A small, liberal arts college founded in 1844 that now has about 1200 students spread out across 150 acres.
     Its 60-something president has just resigned after having been discovered to have been involved in an affair with his daughter-in-law which appears to have recently driven her to suicide. 
     So: This college needs a new president, and I need a bigger desk.
     And I have this ribbon of brain cells I haven't known what to do with for 10 years.
     We're clearly a perfect match.

     I'm not sure what a college president does, but consider this:  This particular college president presides over 1/200,000th the people and 1/15,000,000th the land mass that President Clinton does, yet is paid 94% what Clinton is. 
    And he doesn't have to beg unsavory people for gobs of money so he can run all over the country for years suckering millions of people to vote for him before he can set the first Nintendo cartridge down on that desk of his.
     Clearly, college president is the job for me.
     Especially since I had the sense not to have kids who only grow up to compete with you for mates.

     Ok, so there are a few catches.  (No neuron-worthy job is ever perfect.)
     For one thing, it's a very conservative liberal arts college, so I suspect being around it must often be as conceptually trying at times as going out for a few drinks with a married bachelor. 
     For another, it refuses to accept any federal funds, which means I'd face countless sleepless nights lying in bed wondering whether or not these funds have found a safe, warm place to stay.  Given the fact that I have many warm and empty pockets, just going to waste, I really don't know how I'd be able to live with myself next time I read of a single federal dollar ending up in a homeless shelter.
     Third, there's this college's tradition of exposing its students to a broad range of opinion ranging from Margaret Thatcher at one end to Steve Forbes at the other.  Clearly they're playing with fire here.  Clearly it's just a matter of time before these students hear from someone whose opinion on an issue just happens to be in conflict with someone else's, and then what?  Anarchy, that's what!  Well, I won't be a party to that.  Either they agree to invite William F. Buckley to speak from now on and ONLY William F. Buckley or I'm outa there no matter the size of the damn desk. 
     And finally, of course, there's the matter of learning how to keep my hypocrisy secret on just 94% of the salary of President Clinton.  Of presenting a pure, moral face to the world while simultaneously engaging in illicit, virtually Democratic frolics with forbidden fruit more than 20 years younger than I am.  That's the real kicker.  I've never been very good at math, and even a slight miscalculation in my case could result in some nasty equation like "college president + (mistress - 20) = 30 years in prison +/- bad food"....

     Enough.  I withdraw my application.  Maybe when I'm older and more sure of my algebraic abilities, I'll apply again.
     Til then, this old desk of mine will just have to do.
     And what the hell?  Maybe after I clear out a few of those old, broken misconceptions and weedy whims, this abandoned strip of neurons in my head will be wide enough to make a fine pencil holder.
     If not, well, maybe I can get a federal grant to hire a co-ed to help me dispose of my common sense as well....