Oh, Loving Hate

Four years ago, I developed strong feelings for a certain playwright we were studying in school.  Not the good feelings, like a warm, happy glow. Quite the opposite.
The class was studying Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, but as I soon found out,  I definitely had no love for the impossible Shakespearean verses.  Nothing made sense.
We'd look at the passages, and read different acts aloud in class, as I sat in utter bewilderment. What is a coz? Who cared if you bit your thumb?
I'd foolishly thought the Bard was a literary icon, whose writing would inspire and enlighten a girl like myself.
Nope. Oh no. Somewhere between Romeo's, "Oh, brawling love! Oh loving hate!" and Juliet's "Oh, happy dagger!" I was like, no.
My English teacher would practically gush with excitement over the play, but I just wasn't feeling it.
Two years later, another English teacher informed the class that we'd spend three months studying King Lear, a play by a certain English playwright.
Me: Please-no-I'll-do-anything-I-will-read-thirty-books-or-do-calculus-if-you-don't-make-me-read-this
No luck.
Tonight, though, we are going to see a production of the lovely King Lear at Corpus Christi college, and I've decided to bring my best attitude. Surely, there's something about these plays that has some sort of redeemable qualities.  A Midsummer Night's Dream (which we saw at Shakespeare's Globe two weeks ago) actually made me laugh so hard, I almost cried.
But I never embarrass myself, so . . . .
So we'll see. I'm willing to give Shakespeare another stab (like Juliet, see what I did there?) Couldn't resist.
Cheerio.