This Is The Sound Of My Brain Exploding And Landing On That Guy Who's Just Minding His Own Damn Business. Wrong Place, Buddy. Can I Borrow That Book?

Some of my classmates and I were discussing how fucking dorky we are because, unlike MOST students, we're looking forward to the end of our semester in just a few weeks not so we can take a month off and relax, but for the opportunity to read even more than we already do. So we can read books for, like, fun. And stuff.

I know, it's crazy.

I've got a giant stack of books in the basement calling my name, but I just haven't been able to get to them. Some of them are fluffy crap, some of them are classics I've never read, there are at least 4 different Joyce Carol Oates novels, and (of course) there are the King novels I haven't re-read in over a year.

I keep requesting books from the library (like In The Woods and The Magician's Elephant) that have to be transported from one location to another and scanned along the way and marked with my name and put on a special shelf...so that I can cancel my request when I realize I do not have the time to read them until December. What with all the Say Yes to the Dress and 48 Hours Special Investigation episodes. What the hell is wrong with me? PUT DOWN THE PORNOGRAPHY AND READ A DAMN BOOK.

Ahem.

Anyway, so I started reading Lady Chatterley's Lover and I had to put it down. The only book I've sort of stuck with is the 100 Ghastly Ghost Stories that I read aloud to Gray after dinner by the firelight or out by the bonfire after dark. Because I don't torture him enough with requests to please "look for bugs in the sheets" and "rub my back, boy!" I have to forcibly molest his eardrums at night. It is important to our relationship that I do what I want 100% of the time.

So I'm not sure exactly what I was going to tell you now, I'm all distracted wondering if that one chick ended up buying that one dress that was $4,150 over her budget because I missed the end of the episode because the other show about the guy who murdered his wife and framed the pet rabbit was starting and my DVR was already taping The Little Couple.

Oh, that's right - so Christmas break. I've opted to take 6 days of PTO which mean that starting Christmas Eve, I will be on "vacation" from both school and work until January 4th.

In case you suck at math like me, I used my calculator and discovered that is ELEVEN ENTIRE DAYS of not working or schooling. In a row. To be used for reading and opting not to shower and possibly catching up on my obese Google reader.

And if that isn't a Merry fucking Christmas, kids....well then I don't know what is.

And until then, all I have to do is:

• create, edit and present a 15 minute video about the importance of the madrigal to the validation of the English vernacular for use in music and literature
• finish reading King Lear, The Tempest, and a bunch of stuff by Jonathan Swift, Samuel Johnson, and John Gay
• finish a research paper comparing Shakespeare's treatment of female chastity to Chaucer's treatment of female sexuality through the Wife of Bath, and (OF COURSE) the implications of all that shit
• write a paper on one of 14 topics, all of which sound as daunting as this example: "The Infernal Ontologies of Marlowe & Milton - hellish states of beingness - compare the speeches of Mephistopheles and Satan in order to determine whether their respective authors are up to the same project and why does it matter?"
• take a final on Shakespeare's histories and tragedies
• polish off that bottle of Tanqueray
• quit smoking
• try not to cry a whole bunch

So what I'm saying is...what the fuck does "ontologies" mean?