So to argue with Einstein about some quantum physics stuff, a long time ago, Shrodinger created a hypothetical experiment. Here is my very NOT physics based interpretation of said experiment.
Put a cat and some radio-active stuff in a sealed box. After a while, theoretically, the cat is both surely alive and surely dead. In actuality there are a lot of scientific calculations, theorems, and proofs that demonstrate scientifically that the cat is both alive (radio-active stuff decayed) and dead (not decayed). Schrodinger's point being...the cat isn't alive and dead, it is either alive or dead, and noone will know for sure until you open the box.
This paradox might be what makes my relationship with my mother so crushing. She is that damn cat in the poison box. Her box is her apartment, her poison is drinking and anti-depressants, oh, and wallowing, we can't forget the wallowing. She doesn't answer the phone for weeks on end, so in my mind, she is both alive and dead. I have to mentally prepare myself every. single. time. that this might be the time that her tiny body can't withstand anymore abuse. I also have to prepare myself that she is sitting in her apartment watching Golden Girls and eating pizza, perfectly fine, thriving on my sister and I calling her every 5 minutes to make sure she is okay, because she has our utmost attention.
I guess it would be like Einstein stealing Shrodinger's box, opening it, then refusing to tell Shrodinger whether the cat was actually alive or dead. And Shrodinger having to always wonder what happened to his cat. That would be brutal because even though the cat got mean, and you talk terribly about the cat to strangers, and sometimes you really feel like if you never saw the cat again you would be fine, you can't help caring about what happens to the cat, because, well you know. It's your cat.
Put a cat and some radio-active stuff in a sealed box. After a while, theoretically, the cat is both surely alive and surely dead. In actuality there are a lot of scientific calculations, theorems, and proofs that demonstrate scientifically that the cat is both alive (radio-active stuff decayed) and dead (not decayed). Schrodinger's point being...the cat isn't alive and dead, it is either alive or dead, and noone will know for sure until you open the box.
This paradox might be what makes my relationship with my mother so crushing. She is that damn cat in the poison box. Her box is her apartment, her poison is drinking and anti-depressants, oh, and wallowing, we can't forget the wallowing. She doesn't answer the phone for weeks on end, so in my mind, she is both alive and dead. I have to mentally prepare myself every. single. time. that this might be the time that her tiny body can't withstand anymore abuse. I also have to prepare myself that she is sitting in her apartment watching Golden Girls and eating pizza, perfectly fine, thriving on my sister and I calling her every 5 minutes to make sure she is okay, because she has our utmost attention.
I guess it would be like Einstein stealing Shrodinger's box, opening it, then refusing to tell Shrodinger whether the cat was actually alive or dead. And Shrodinger having to always wonder what happened to his cat. That would be brutal because even though the cat got mean, and you talk terribly about the cat to strangers, and sometimes you really feel like if you never saw the cat again you would be fine, you can't help caring about what happens to the cat, because, well you know. It's your cat.
To end on a positive note, here is a picture of our cat.
1 comment:
Ha! I love this, especially that you END WITH A PICTURE OF YOUR CAT. And your cat is like, "Wait, what?"
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