Hello to all lame blog-posts seen below, gel-pens spurting ink all over meticulously-drawn scenery, and forlorn heroes and heroines of Victorian literature.
Solitary Confinement can grow tiresome. So, what better to do than pretend you’re living in Victorian London! More accurately, to pretend you’re an unusual heroine in England, circa mid nineteenth century. I trust, Blog-Reader, that you’ve read at least one old classic– Bronte, Dickens, Austen– and that you’re at least somewhat familiar with the doings, goings-on, tea-drinking, long monologues, horse-riding, carriage-hitching good time that was Victorian England.
What I find most interesting about that old style of writing is how everyone talks. In 2012, ‘He isn’t good at soccer’ would be acceptable, but back then it would be ‘He lacks certain abilities in the kicking, running, and economics of the much-played English sport. Therefore, I pity him; as I excel greatly in all aspects of English football, I can barely comprehend at what level of inadequacy this lad is, who can scarcely kick a football in the right direction. I could invite him for tea; perhaps this will make him feel better.’ You see? I love how they write everything out like that. And everything that normally isn’t very interesting is so dramatic and romanticized with Victorian writers; if you see a man with nice green eyes or something, if you were a young English heroine, you’d have to exclaim ‘Oh! his eyes burned like green emeralds, alight with some heavenly glow; some inner flame; I could barely comprehend the sheer depth in those eyes which I beheld!’
Anyway, when your life is as boring as mine, sometimes you have to add a little bit of Victorian drama.
So what did I do today? No, I didn’t just read some books and watch some TV, and mess around on WordPress and sigh over how stupid my Hunger Games interlude post was– I, like a true Jane Eyre, determined there was ‘no possibility of taking a walk that day’, so I stayed inside, but, I brooded over the tryings of my past, reflected open love lost, hope gained, and fortunes reversed– I watched some crows flit past the heath-patch, sat on a window seat and thought about things, became a governess, conversed with the household staff– oh, it was marvelous– I always find at least some warmth and hope even in the bleakest of surroundings!
Gosh I wish I was actually a fictional heroine. Oh, well…
Yours truly, and cheerio!, Onceabasementdog. (Actually, nobody in Jane Eyre has ever actually said ‘cheerio.’ I think that’s probably an American invention. Farewell!)