monday knight madness

You know you've hit a low point in your life when you find yourself saying - actually saying, aloud, like talking - 'Mordred is king? Tch, I don't want Mordred to be king! What? Who wrote this? WHO WROTE THIS?'

Welcome to the bottom of the world. The pit, if you will, of doom.

That's the kind of thing I'm saying to myself at 7 o'clock on a Monday night while other people are getting ready to go out, get the shift, get moving, get pizza, or get something. The only thing I'm getting is annoyed because some 15th century dude made Mordred king while Arthur was in France. And then he let him take over and ruin everything. Well, he let the people let him take over. It's a long story.
(Should've said Spoiler Alert there really - sorry for ruining all those surprises.)

The worst part is, I don't even hate Mordred that much. Why am I talking to myself about something I don't even care about? The only reason I even know who he is is because I've got a tutorial on the Death of Arthur in two days. I'm not into the fantasy genre. The only thing I knew about Guinevere before I read it was that her name sounded sort of like Genevieve, and Keira Knightley played her in that crap Clive Owen version. Before last week Mordred wasn't even a thing.

... so that's what was happening in Camelot when Mordred took over

Yet I'm at home yelling to myself (possibly the floor, too, if he's listening) about that Damn Mordred Guy, instead of doing what I used to do - going out and paying someone five euro not to steal my coat. What's wrong with me? Have I become middle-aged? Have I surrendered to writing long essays about The Significance of Mordred? Have I watched one too many episodes of Midsomer Murders? Have I - gasp - sold out?

I'm asking myself these questions when I realise - sort of - that this is a small problem compared to, say, the possibility of having an exam about this Mordred character.

Exam? EXAM! Doom. Doom.

As I said, welcome to the bottom of the world. Where talking to yourself about fictional knights and then thinking about it for twenty minutes when you should be reading a topical essay called The Discourse of Suspension (not even kidding) is the usual Monday night jam.

Bon Bore!