mental haze

It is Friday night, 11:07 to be exact. My eyes are so tired from reading for hours, but moreover, from trying to wade through and decode pages and pages of literary criticism. Abby is having a hard time sleeping tonight. She's singing cheerfully: "You better not cry, you better not pout...Santa Claus is watching..oh for goodness, goodness sake" (to the tune of S.Claus is coming to town). Now, you try hearing that over and over on a loop while attempting to absorb phrases like this one: "I suggest that tropological language clothes, and therefore makes physical, a body that does not signify outside the realm of rhetorical interpellation" (Madhavi Menon, from "Wanton Words: Rhetoric and Sexuality on English Renaissance Drama" p.23). Whatever happened to going to the movies on a Friday night? Why am I doing this grad school thing again? Catch me in the morning after 5 hours of sleep and some coffee, and I'll be able to answer that question for you. I think.