Jane Austen, You Are My God.

Alas, I have been remiss in writing and apologize heartily for my absence, darling readers. Truly, had I for one second thought I should cause you any heartache or discomfort I would have hurled myself from the nearest highway overpass. I do hope you won't think ill of me, should you think upon me at all.

How could one hope to accomplish much of anything when one is living amongst the masses, striving to educate their poor souls in spite of their mob mentality and apparent affluence? Indeed, I must constantly assuage myself that my lessons are not in vain; that something good, nay, great, may come of their instruction, though they may loathe it so.

I must keep my fortitude in the face of adversity. I must continue to write so that you, dearest, will have something to occupy your long and lonely hours. Please do not spend another dismal afternoon crying in the attic window wondering when I would again bless you with my tales of despair, joy, and ambivalence. My weak heart could not bear the thought.




PS- Saw Pride & Prejudice last weekend and it confirmed my belief that I was meant to live in the Austen era. I suppose I'm turn of the century... just the wrong one. Of course, Jane Austen never found love and died at a fairly young age, a lonely spinster with a quill pen.