Chic Lit

"Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and, when we came near the point at which our ways diverged, I quickened my pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning, I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my follish blood.

Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile to romance. On saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the flaring streets, jostled by drunken men and bargaining women, amid the curses of labourers. These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears(I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which , now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play... "

I read this short story during my useless lecture. It reminds me so much of Great Expectations. Din catch a fucking wink last night. Fact is I've been sleeping for 3 damn days. I see little reason why u should plan coz plans flop. Flip. Flop. Plans flopped thats why weekend was crap. Monday, today, was far better.

I seem to be the only one who progressed the most in terms of readin my victorian lit text. I am quite sure I once lived in those times. Where pple spent their entire lifetime being verbose, writing letters all the damn time.