Violet Crush

I have not been posting--instead I have been a very, very good grad student, churning out the pages exactly as I ought to do.

And you know, having a discomfiting host of anxiety dreams about writing, my (un)romantic life, &c--all designed to leave me scratching my head and feeling very disturbed by the quirks of my subconscious.

But then, last night I dreamed that I was writing, writing, writing, and I looked up and the table was covered in violets (my most favorite flower), brought to me courtesy Colin Firth c. 1996 (aka Mr. Darcy).

I haven't thought of my old Firth-as-Darcy crush in ages, but it certainly was charming to see him there with his best I'm-so-in-love-with-you gaze on. And also, violets smell wonderful.

It seems my subconscious has a conscience--I wish it would it feel a twinge of guilt more often, and bring me similar pleasant surprises now and then to make up for its general nutjobbery.

On a related note, I wish I had sprung for the DVD version of the BBC Pride and Prejudice way back when, rather than the cheaper and now obsolete video cassettes. I finally had to give them away to someone who actually owns a VCR. I'm just not going to plumb the depths of Craigslist for Jurassic Age technology, even for Darcy. And now I am Firthless, except for the very inferior film adaptation of Les Liasons Dangereuses, called Valmont. I bought it thinking I would like to see more Firth in costume drama, but I'm always thrown off by his weird mullet pony tail. Besides, Firth is less compelling than Malkovich, even if--and perhaps because--Firth's a good deal more plausible as a seducer of all ladies, being much more handsome and charming and much less creepy. Go figure.

At all events, I need to correct this tragedy of obsolescence--I could go for a long P&P session right now.