So I knew that one day I would eat these words, "Proust is better than sex". It's now about six months later and I find myself reading Proust again. Who knew that a brief two week fling would turn into what is sure to become a year long obession. Our courtship has only just begun, but already I wish I were...well...not having sex, but drinking, yes drinking would be better. In fact, that's what I'll be doing in about an hour and a half, but for now, I am thinking about my new mate, discovering those parts I adore (the ways in which Marcel's dreams and memories unfold into his reality), and also those that I hate (probably the corpus of "theories of description" with which I'll have to come to terms). Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy literary theory, and it will probably constitute the bulk of my first chapter, but I just don't know how many different times I'm willing to read the same goddamn thing (So much literary theory is just a repackaging of things that have come before, and it seems that few are willing to properly admit and reference their intellectual debts, though perhaps they are simply unaware.)