Sitting complacent on her college bed raised on cinder blocks is a girl contemplating all the events of the day. Possible thought bubbles, including but not limited to (moose lake. please erin say you got that please):
-Why, oh why, does Internet Explorer still exist, when Firefox is obviously superior in every way?
-Why does my vacuum spew stuff instead of the other way around? I am not buying a new bag for that thing. It's not happening.
- I can't wait for morning so I can open the window and see my tree. What did I ever do to deserve that aspen tree outside my bedroom window? I couldn't possibly have done anything that good in three lifetimes. How aesthetically pleasing.
-All the books on my top bookshelf with the matching spines from the Barnes and Noble Classics collection are a sight for sore eyes. I think I might go smell them. Geek alarm.
- Someday I'm gonna have to stop thinking about Miranda and Ferdinand in scene 2.2 and actually write a paper on them. Something about how their subplot is the only one in the whole book not concerned with themes of subtlety and conspiracy and usurpation and they are an important contrast in their singular sincerity, demonstrated in lines 42-84. Or something. Someday before 12:20 on Wednesday.
-I finished Dracula today as I was walking home from school. It was the best walk home I ever had, and I probably should have paid attention to the muddy terrain instead of Mina Harker's scintillating story. But that's okay. Mud comes off.
- I hope Collin finishes Catching Fire soon. I want to talk to him about it. He seemed to think 70 pages was a big deal for one night. Is that real? Whose reading speed is skewed, mine or his?
- Sometimes, Shakespeare writes weird stuff. Like Cymbeline. Did you know Cymbeline is the King in that story? Is it just me, or is Cymbeline kind of a girl name? Cue McCuskey in my head, talking about the instability and arbitrary nature of language and how Shakespeare is the precursor to Humpty Dumpty, making up words and saying they mean stuff. He is laughing in his grave right now, gleefully considering the thousands of students trying to figure out what all that stuff means. Kind of like Lewis Carrol and his precious Jabberwocky.
- You know what a vorpal blade is? Me neither. Cause it isn't even a thing.
- Lit analysis is so different from real life analysis. For example: Bram Stoker characterizes Jonathan Harker so as to make us think he is a schmuck. I see this. I laugh at the satire, at the cleverness of an Irishman poking fun at British Imperialism using subtle descriptions of train schedules and paprika chicken, and it is funny. But in real life, I think I would like Jonathan Harker. I might even respect him. Oh, education. How irrelevant you are to real life, at times.
- That turned into some really long thought bubbles, all leading back to literature. There is a distinct possibility I am an English Major and it is two weeks until finals.
- I think I'm gonna go analyze some Shakespeare now.