No, Shut Up!

This weekend I did the following things:

a) threw a wedding shower, at which I
b) got told repeatedly that I look like Rachel McAdams (flattering, but false) so I
c) watched Mean Girls with my mom.

I also:
d) lied to everyone about the state of my paper (done, when the truth was: not done)
e) began to panic about the impending graduation
f) helped my grandmother buy my heart's only desire: a KitchenAid Artisan stand mixer, in Empire Red. With a pasta maker. I am going to defer grad school to make ravioli.
g) rediscovered my love for the Doobie Brothers.
h) attempted to watch Charlie's Angels, which was entertaining because it gave me something to feel superior to for about half an hour.

I am now attempting to write the "finished" paper on Michel Tremblay. All I want to do is wank about how awesome I think Samuel Beckett is. And read Dante, and moon about over Dante. (oh God, the INFERNO) And then reread Paradise Lost, preferably out loud, and swoon. And then I can just roll around all over the script for Wit, and forget that I actually have to graduate and turn in not only a senior thesis, but also a paper on elementary particles. And one on Ireland. And one on a book which I have not read. And one on Eldred's production of Much Ado on Naboo. fuuuuuuuck.

Instead, I find myself listening to Queen and reminiscing about being in high school and dressing in tiedyed thigh high socks for basketball games, and how much I miss those days, especially the one night when 1.6 seconds meant everything, and how the roar of our crowd, our people, filled exactly half the arena, the other side dread silent.

"Without love, where would you be now? Without love?"