An (Imaginary) Rabid Fan Attack at the Coffee Pub

I sat in the corner of the Coffee Pub today feeling horribly artistic with my legs draped over the chair arm, Mrs. Dalloway resting in my lap, hot tea in my hand (to pay the rent), and Iron and Wine pumping into my ears. Horribly, horribly artistic. In those two and a half hours I spent reading, my mind kept wandering to an imaginary conversation in my head that featured a rabid fan praising the play that I wrote while sitting in the corner of the Coffee Pub feeling horrible artistic. This RF gushed over the humor intertwined with literary and historical allusions, reminiscent of Beckett in it's pretentious inaccessibility that I succeeded in capturing in poignant scene after poignant scene. During this whole imaginary conversation I was magnanimous and condescending, deigning to grant an autograph to the RF and being every bit as witty and engaging as the witty and engaging characters in my witty and engaging play. 'Beckett used to be my favorite,' said the RF, 'but now it's you.'

And then I would be snapped back to real life by the realization that I have no idea who Septimus is and I probably should, since he just jumped out of a window. Actually, that is a lie. I haven't gotten that far in Mrs. Dalloway, but I'm going to trust SparkNotes and say that Septimus jumped out of a window. I had planned to speed read and finish tonight, but it's quite a difficult book to understand when reading at leisure speed, and let's face it, I'm not a very good speed reader anyway. I did finish Murphy and more than half of Mrs. Dalloway, so I'm hoping that that will be enough to get me an A on my exam tomorrow. I'll plan on answering as many Murphy questions as possible. We get to chose 14 out of 30 to answer, and there are only two books on this exam, so theoretically I could answer all Murphy questions and still be totally fine. I've been especially apathetic this past weekend about school and such. Perhaps it is the Senioritis setting in full force.