i know it’s arbitrary and abstract, fleeting and meaningless; that its importance is time-specific and by the time i’m 70 i’ll have forgotten 70 times over; that it pales seriously in comparison to the republicans taking over the senate; that its ability to determine my intelligence, let alone my destiny, is dubious — but it still feels so damn good to get an A.
also, to shake us out of our melancholy, sarah c. and i have decided to put on a production of an ideal husband. i’ll direct, she’ll stage manage, we’ll co-produce. together we’ll draw wit like blood from the turnip that is a swarthmore winter.