So I have a bit of a situation at the present, and I hope you won't mind my sharing it with you, because really, it does bear explaining in all its absurd glory. You see, my problem with the boys has not abated, although it has changed a bit, and is possibly slightly more preferable now than it was before. Let me explain. Darnay happened to text me while I was at dinner with Eric and the others, and Eric, deciding to be helpful, promptly texted back (on my phone) that I have a boyfriend. I suppose I have to be grateful that he wanted to aid me in my predicament, but I can't say I'm overly delighted with the manner he chose to employ. I didn't want to perpetuate a falsehood, man! It's not right! But, like an arrow that flies from the bow, words that are spoken cannot be taken back, and there is no retracing it now. The one bright spot in all this mess is that Darnay is now leaving me alone, but even that is really not a bright spot, because Irene told me that he really liked me, and is heartbroken now, and really, that makes me feel terrible. Romantic as it might seem to be a heartbreaker, it really isn't the most pleasant position in the world. Do you think Helen was happy in her tower, and was Circe content on her island? (okay actually Circe was probably fine with her circumstances, but my point stands) It's so drastically uncomfortable! And matters are worse than this. Like the hydra, when one man leaves, another immediately rises up to take his place, and this is the case in my poor life. One delightful 25-year-old who is in the employ of the honors office, but apparently not any honors society of the brain, has taken it upon himself to "get to know me," as he calls it, and text me many times a day with rather non-sequitur questions, ranging from the age of my parents to the time that I've been single. Unfortunately, he never asks me about modal auxiliary verbs or generative grammar or anything like that, so I can't hold forth for long enough to keep him at bay. I did try today to talk about Star Trek and Cyrano de Bergerac to see if that would shake him off my tail, but alas, it did not. When someone is a buxom young lady with lissome features and a bright smile, after all, the last thing on most people's minds is whether or not she is talking sense. Now, if I were a pox-ridden Neanderthal with three noses, perhaps someone would actually listen to what I have to say, but as it is, all that occupies their minds is whether or not I have any underwear on. It's a sad life, it is, but at least I can talk about Star Trek without recrimination, so all is not lost.
It does make one wonder, though– is 5 years too much of a difference at my age? If we were in our 30s, there would be no problem, but at this stage of the game, it seems like there is a substantial difference in our levels of experience and knowledge about the world. I am no innocent waif (or at least I'd like to think that I'm not), but I am far from being the mature sophisticate that more advanced age will bring. There's still so much I don't know, and so much that I haven't seen! Is Rochester (that's what I've decided to dub my new suitor, for obvious reasons*) trying to prey upon my naiveté? Or is he really and truly a good (if misguided) person, merely looking for some companionship in this cruel world? I'm tempted to think that it's not that, but I suppose one never knows. Perhaps he will perform a great and honorable deed and sway my heart in his favor forever after. Could it be true love? I rather hope not. I mean, I'd like to think that my true love is someone who can at least recognize allusions to classic literature, and capture my full attention while I talk to them. Is that too much to ask? Maybe. But if so, why then I will stay alone for all time! No settling for me, no sirree bob! I will live my life to the fullest, and whether I spend it in splendid isolation or in contrapuntal harmony, it will be one for which I will not have to make excuses! I must say, that sounded good, didn't it? Maybe I will win that Pulitzer yet. Anyway, I must figure this out, and hopefully I will figure it out soon, because Rochester has already progressed to the level of wishing me, "good morning beautiful" with fifteen emojis, and it won't be long before things have gone altogether too far. But I will figure it out! If I can formulate theories about negative polarity items and their role in questions, I can do this. Let's go! Figuratively speaking, I'm going to go, yes, and literally speaking too, because I got up at 6:15 this morning, and I really should get some sleep. So, goodnight!
*It might actually not be obvious, actually, since I have just now realized that Rochester is a place as well as a person. But I was referencing the creepy and dishonest Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, who is, of course, much older than the heroine. (I hope that doesn't make me Jane though– I don't think too highly of her. I would much rather be Eustacia.)
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