My icon says it all.
I'm feeling giddy!
Partly from the wine, and partly from exhaustion. It's...ummmm...2:30 in the morning, and I just finished baking an unholy amount of cookies and squares.
Seems there wasn't any Christmas baking this year. The situation HAD to be rectified.
By happy accident, I've discovered that after a few drinks I have an incredible compulsion to CLEAN THINGS (which means that at parties I tend to be the one scurrying around picking up paper plates and obsessively mopping up spills). My mother's been plying me with brandy beans and red wine, and the house is now spotless.
...I finished reading "Villette" by Charlotte Bronte the other day (I figured that I couldn't call myself a fan based on one book alone). It was much better than I expected, considering how little-known it is. Less plot-driven than "Jane Eyre", and more like a psychological study - which wasn't a bad thing; it was brilliantly done.
A goodly chunk of the dialogue was in French, which made me incredibly thankful for a working knowledge of the language.
And the ending took me rather by surprise...she doesn't say it outright, but I'm fairly sure that it's implied that the male romantic lead dies in a shipwreck on the last page. It was an oddly bleak note to end on, instead of the wedding favoured by, oh, 99.9 percent of Victorian fiction.
Next on the roster: "North and South" by Elizabeth Gaskell.
Partly from the wine, and partly from exhaustion. It's...ummmm...2:30 in the morning, and I just finished baking an unholy amount of cookies and squares.
Seems there wasn't any Christmas baking this year. The situation HAD to be rectified.
By happy accident, I've discovered that after a few drinks I have an incredible compulsion to CLEAN THINGS (which means that at parties I tend to be the one scurrying around picking up paper plates and obsessively mopping up spills). My mother's been plying me with brandy beans and red wine, and the house is now spotless.
...I finished reading "Villette" by Charlotte Bronte the other day (I figured that I couldn't call myself a fan based on one book alone). It was much better than I expected, considering how little-known it is. Less plot-driven than "Jane Eyre", and more like a psychological study - which wasn't a bad thing; it was brilliantly done.
A goodly chunk of the dialogue was in French, which made me incredibly thankful for a working knowledge of the language.
And the ending took me rather by surprise...she doesn't say it outright, but I'm fairly sure that it's implied that the male romantic lead dies in a shipwreck on the last page. It was an oddly bleak note to end on, instead of the wedding favoured by, oh, 99.9 percent of Victorian fiction.
Next on the roster: "North and South" by Elizabeth Gaskell.