I haven’t had the moment yet, the moment which happens every semester and typically lasts between an hour and a whole night, culminating in my gnashing my teeth and renting my garments, crying “I can’t do this” until I pass out, exhausted, only to wake up the next morning (or afternoon) and get stuff done.
I’m really not quite certain what to think about that.
I’m down to one paper and one final. The paper isn’t going to be an easy one, slap down some criticism, top it with a bit of flowery interpretation on it, stir in a couple of sources in it and throw it on the table. This is a “what the hell was I thinking? what the hell AM I thinking?” sort of thing, is postmodernism honest? dishonest? what is it anyway?
So, yeah, there I am. Moment-less and confused.
But it’s okay. It’s almost over, and margaritaville calls me.
Wednesday. At 4:30. I’ll be there, stuffing lost shakers of salt in my pockets and singing God-knows-what.
I’ll be having a moment.