Here's a play that seriously knows how to handle the threat of meaninglessness. Since deconstructionists and poststructuralists constantly find themselves struggling to remember what the point of it all is—i.e., life, the universe, 42, and everything—Samuel Beckett's absurdist masterpiece is a perfect complement to fretful theory on a rainy day.
Questions you might consider: if Godot is a metaphor, what might poststructuralists take him for? Going on with the metaphor thing, if we imagine that Vladimir and Estragon are metaphorical "readers," what does that do to our own reading of the play?