St. Elmo

This morning I noticed a sock in the toilet. It wasn't mine. I told Rachel and she acted like I had done it to be funny, but that's not how I'm funny. I made her get it out.

I'm better from my cold now. I know that because when I woke up my mouth was closed and my pillow was dry. When I'm sick that's not how it works.

Well, I don't know why you guys wouldn't want me to go on a trip for SB.

Awhile ago I was reading this book I found in our house called St. Elmo. It was written in the 19th century and it is a really beautiful book, I think it belongs to the people who own the house.

Anyways, it's one of those books where you can skip large portions of it because you know that the author is about to go on and on about something....and it's like, okay, I understand it already, you can stop going on about her simple homespun dress and the sunrise and the hymn she's singing absentmindedly and her pail of water and her ugly dog that she loves anyways.

It's fun to read because it makes me feel so smart, because I can say things to myself like, "oh geez, Romanticism; glad we're not as into that anymore, but we're sort of getting back into it again, I should probably reread Bobos in Paradise." I would say more intelligent things, if I knew anything, but I've pretty much forgotten it all, so yeah.

I remember when I was maybe 12 I used to lose myself in writing like that. L.M. Montgomery was my favorite author for awhile.

I wonder why that appealed to me so much then? I guess it appeals to me now too, since I read two chapters of a book like that this morning. I think/hope I liked it this AM because it was funny, though. This girl is basically sinless, and has recently lost all her family and become a cripple, and she's struggling through....and I was just about to stop reading when they introduced a guy who is basically Satan. And I already know what's going to happen, so that's when I really stopped reading and came to go brag to my Mom, Peter, Em and Dan that I know what's going to happen.

You guys will know too, just read this:

"A painful thrill shot along Edna's nerves, and an indescribable sensation of dread, a presentiment of coming ill, overshadowed her heart. This was the son of her friend, and the first glimpse of him filled her with instantaneous repugnance; there was an innate and powerful repulsion which she could not analyze. He was a tall, athletic man, not exactly young, yet certainly not elderly; one of anomalous appearance, prematurely old, and, though not one white thread silvered his thick, waving, brown hair, the heavy and habitual scowl on his high full brow had plowed deep furrows such as age claims for its monogram."