I have to read William's Cat on a Hot Tin Roof for Drama and Crit tomorrow. But I couldn't get through it tonight.

It's not the heavyhandedness of the play that put me off, it's just a general feeling of restlessness. I'm restless. I wish I had an addiction to satisfy, but since I don't, I just got myself some black chai. I'll probably be wandering all night, or reading, or something. Maybe I'll do some spree killing down at the mall.

After reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, here's a classification system I found interesting. Four types of people.

1. Those who need many anonymous eyes upon them.
The Ann Coulters of the world.

2. Those who need many known eyes upon them.
The pretentious gaddabouts of the world.

3. Those who need the eyes of the person they love upon them. The Young Lovers epitomize this few for me.

4. Those who live for the eyes of someone who isn't there.
Jefferson Smith in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington"?