Of Caesar, Pack Rats, and the Ultimate Outcome

As the big joke that runs through the Cosmos would have it, a pack rat had moved into my file cabinet. Imagine, if you will, the proof of my life: birth certificate, social security card, diplomas (high school, BA, Master's, PhD), and certificates (lots of certificates), titles to cars, houses, last will and testament, financial statements, tax returns, and letters of recommendation/evaluation/contract from thirty years of teaching, all chewed and shat  upon by a hungry little rodent. Well, that's what greeted me when I opened up the cabinet to cull out the unnecessary documents of my time here on earth. Being a philosopher at heart, I ranted only briefly (two days) before accepting that a rat had gnawed and pissed on the most important papers produced by my existence, turning them to manila confetti complete with tidy fecal pellets. Perfect, in its way. The papers will, eventually, be as meaningless as Egyptian parchments blowing across the sand dunes of the Sinai. But today, this here and now, they do mean something, prove to my peers that, yes, I do have credentials and property. Ephemeral though they may be, I am beholden to Caesar for a few more years until I render unto bigger forces the worth of my days. Time to clean up and sort through the mess. Can't check out yet, no matter the meaninglessness of trying to get it right.