It feels very strange to be rooting for the Mets.

I have been a Yankee fan for ages and ages, ever since my younger brother declared himself to be a Met fan way back when. This was not really a coincidence, but that hardly matters. Nor does it matter that I would have trouble naming more than five players on the current Yankees roster. My fanhood transcends such petty details as who is on the team and how well they are doing, not to mention the fact that I don't care about sports at all. All that matters is that I'm a Yankee fan, and that's all there is to it.

And part of being a Yankee fan -- perhaps the most fun part, in fact -- is being against the Mets. This is not a reciprocal relationship; a poll some time back showed that if the Yankees were in the World Series, and the Mets weren't, most Met fans would root for the Yankees. The same poll showed that, in the reverse case, most Yankee fans would root against the Mets. This is as it should be.

And yet... as much as I want the Mets to lose, the possibility of a Subway Series is too alluring to resist. More than anything else, I want the Mets to lose to the Yankees. In the World Series. At last.

Which means that the Mets have to make it to the Series. So while I'm not exactly rooting for them, I'm hoping they'll get there.

And then get trounced.

Sunday was Simchas Torah, the final Jewish holiday on the agenda for some time. I spent it back in Far Rockaway, where I got to see some relatives and friends I hadn't seen in awhile, not to mention my nephew, so that much was nice.

At any rate, I got back to my apartment around 11 PM that night, and proceeded to stay up all night, because I had stuff to read and homework to do for my three Monday classes.

The problem with staying up all night is that there comes a point of diminishing returns. Somewhere around 5 AM, say, when you're no longer capable of actually getting anything done. But, of course, going to sleep for a few hours and finishing your work in the morning doesn't occur to you; you're too tired for that. Besides, you know you're not a morning person, so it probably wouldn't work anyway. Two hours later, you've written approximately three more sentences, and college is fast approaching...

...or maybe this just happens to me. Either way, the upshot of this is that I did manage to finish my Women's Studies homework in time, but not the assignment for 20th Century Literature. And I was half-dead.

Still, I staggered into the English Department, stuffed envelopes for a bit, then went to my Women's Studies class, then went back to the English Department and answered phones, and then spoke to my Poetry Workshop professor, as more or less chronicled in yesterday's entry. From there, to my 20th Century Literature class, about a quarter-hour late. Not only was I late, but it was only through a supreme effort of will that I managed to keep my head up for most of class. At the end of the period, I took my knapsack, put it on my desk, and used it as a pillow for a couple of minutes before woozily making my way out of the room.

I decided to write my Indian History class off as a loss, and made my way home, where I fell directly into the arms of Morpheus.

I had lots of things to do on Tuesday night. I had stuff to read for two classes, plus a paper to make up in one of them. Not to mention updating the Soapbox, and editing some stuff for Clean Sheets, and doing various other things. So with all these things to do, I compromised and did none of them.

I did, however, see Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the first time. The season premiere had more than a few jokes directed at college, which I appreciated quite a bit, under the circumstances. I then stayed tuned for the spin-off series, Angel.

The problem in both cases was that my reception of the station was pretty awful; the picture was pretty grainy at best, and the sound blinked out every now and again. I finally fixed the latter problem by adjusting the antennae, but by that point, I'd missed virtually all of the exposition explaining Angel's backstory, so I'm afraid that I don't have much idea about who he is and what he's doing. Ah, well.

Still, I got to sleep at a halfway normal hour, so that much was good.

Also on Wednesday, Clean Sheets officially began celebrating its first anniversary, with the first week of the October staff issue. If y'all stop by there now, not only do you get to read my words of wisdom in the gallery and Chris's "Meaningful Encounters" article, but, even better, you get to read "Minal in Winter," by Mary Anne, which is one of my favorites of hers. Check it out.

(Oh, as for my stuff... it's under my pseudonym. Suffice it to say that I'm one of the "Galley Slaves," and that the last name isn't "Hartman.")

And then came Thursday's poetry workshop, which was okay, and then came Thursday night, and I think I'll finally get to that in the next entry, because this one's already long enough.

(Oh, this is going to be so anticlimactic...)