Funny thing happened tonight after my Film Genre class. Andrew, a fellow student who is in two of my classes, approached me and asked me how I was enjoying the English class we also both attend. My reply took the form of a lengthy tirade about the professor's Deconstructionist approach to the material. After about five full minutes of this, I finally got specific about the Nietzsche text we've been discussing in that class.

Andrew gets this confused look and says, "Nietzsche?" At that point, I realized that the English class Andrew and I shared wasn't the Literary Themes class, but the Folklore in Fairy Tales class. I laughed it off, but I felt like a fucking idiot. And a self-important one, to boot. It was like one of Joyce's self-revelatory epiphanies. Which is why I think there's the makings of a short story in this little anecdote.