Category Archives: A Case of the Rambles

Once Upon a Time, I Had Goals of Becoming a Writer…

I remembered, today…. how I forgot that I want to be a writer.

The problem is, every time I resolve to write something, I suffer from lack-of-interesting-content syndrome.

It can be fatal.

Let’s talk about my diet, shall we? Diets are always a topic of interest.

Now, anyone who knows me would, at this very moment be interrupting with, “…wtf diet are YOU on, skinny b****.”

Well, it’s a FAKE diet, OKAY? I have commandeered the term diet for my health(ish) decision.

I love food. Always have. Always will. It’s an unbreakable bond…except for that time I had horrendous tonsillitis and could not swallow for a week…but we don’t talk about those dark days.

I also like coffee. In fact I would drink many cups of it a day ( and by that I mean many cups consolidated into one big cup). Luckily, for my poor malformed heart and it’s problems, I drink half-caf or decaf. Unluckily, for…all of me, I put ten tons of sugar in said misleadingly healthier coffee. Yeah. It’s not really a nutritious routine.

SO. I decided I would stop with the coffee flavored sugar and start drinking water and eating a bit-o-breakfast. Breakfast cookies. No, wait, wait, breakfast biscuits (That makes it sound much better). So, yeah, I traded out my sugary coffee for sugary chocolate protein fiber cookies that give me 4 hours of energy….or at least a solid 40 minutes.

It’s going well. In fact, I even enjoy my breakfasts.
And I also enjoy the other rule of my “diet” which grants me permission to drink coffee on my days off.

Hey. You didn’t really think I gave up coffee, did you?





Heart Break is Also Romantic

I hate mysteries and concealments.

A rather hypocritical statement from someone who has kept her life a secret from the very person she scolds.
Hypocrite or not, Helen Graham (Huntingdon) is now a favorite character of mine.

I’ve just finished reading:


it is a matter-of-fact that I feel deeply connected to the Brontë sisters.

My obsession with Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre has been long and unwavering.  On the other hand,  Wuthering Heights (written by Emily) did not much resonate with me at all – though I was reading as a high-schooler and that girl is alien to me now. Then there’s Anne. Admittedly, I have overlooked Anne until now (why does that always happen to her? Poor girl).

From my understanding, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is not the Anne Brontë novel with which readers tend to be most familiar.
Apparently, they read Agnes Grey and hate it.

And that is tragic.

Because, Wildfell Hall has easily become one of my favorite novels.

Gilbert Markham narrates the tale through his letters and through the diary entries of “the tenant” herself, Helen Graham (Huntingdon).

Helen arrives with her young son at the formerly uninhabited and run-down Wildfell Hall. She is beyond aloof, hoping to remain unacquainted with all of her new neighbors. Of course, this is completely scandalous, and becomes the main source of fantasy and gossip. Eventually we find that she is hiding from her emotionally abusive, adulterous, self-centered, and reckless husband.

But I am jumping ahead.

Mr. Markham falls in love with Helen almost immediately after their introduction. Her mysterious and stubborn habits draw his affections as inevitably as  you might assume. Her polite yet cold interactions, along with rumors of her attachment to her landlord (Mr. Lawrence) only help to spur on Markham’s feelings.

No sooner does he proclaim his passionate fervor for Helen, then he happens upon her strolling the garden with Mr. Lawrence himself, as they talk of the necessity of leaving the town and its annoying residents.

My heart was splitting with hatred

Markham says.
I love Anne’s descriptions.  The words are simple, yet they are so perfectly and eloquently written.

When will Helen’s story be demystified?

Worry not.
The center two-fourths of the book are Helen’s detailed diary entries which she has given to Markham in order to explain her subdued affections and other misunderstandings (particularly in her connection to Mr. Lawrence).

Helen fell in love with the wrong man. (Don’t we all?)
Despite warnings and protestations, she marries Arthur Huntingdon. Arthur is a flirt and an alcoholic. Helen is so much in love with him that she foolishly thinks she can help Arthur. Not long into their marriage she finds she has made a colossal mistake. BUT she has made her choice in Arthur and promises to endure and overcome all of the heartache and difficulties.

“Where do you want to go Arthur?” said I.
“To London,” replied he, gravely.
“What for?” I asked.
“Because I cannot be happy here.”
“Why not?”
“Because my wife doesn’t love me.”
“She would love you with all her heart, if you deserved it”
“What must I do to deserve it?”
This seemed humble and earnest enough; and I was so much affected, between sorrow and joy, that I was obligated to pause a few seconds before I could steady my voice to reply.
“If she gives you her heart,” said I, “you must take it thankfully, and use it well, and not pull it in pieces, and laugh in her face, because she cannot snatch it away.”

I don’t want to give too much of the book away, so I am keeping my summarization very minimal.
As much as I love Jane Austen, my heart is bound to the dark romances of the Brontë sisters.  The strength and integrity of their amazing female characters influences me in so many ways.  I definitely think I have read this particular novel at an opportune time and it has great significance to me personally.
Perhaps it might for you.

Now I am on to Shirley…. along with the other five books I’m reading.




Excites It to a Healthy and Lively Action

New York Times – Front Pages 1851 to ___ caught my eye when I was at the book store. I wanted to look at the papers from the 1850s for both the news of the time and the writing style. Of course, like newspaper readers of any time period, I was caught up in the advertising.

Look at the numerous and varied ailments this remedy promised to “cure”:


My personal favorite is “Imaginings of evil”.

Versatile indeed.

Underlying Manifesto

I have recently been informed that reading five books at the same time is… irregular…..
Say whaaaaat?
And by this, you don’t have to imagine me as some form of Ganesha with abnormal amounts of appendages for book-holding.
I just don’t have a definite need to start and finish one book before going on to the next.

But I have learned that mine is strange behavior.
I was discussing a forthcoming, long work day with a friend last week. He told me he hadn’t brought along a book for the (likely) four hours of boredom he would be facing. For a schedule in which I would normally bring at least three books to pass the time, he hadn’t even brought one! The reasoning he gave was that he had been waiting on a book for over a year and it was going to be released the next day. He explained that because of this, he couldn’t begin a different book as he was going to read this wonderful, magical, anticipated book once he could purchase it on the day following.

What kind of nonsense was this?!? Such an alien concept to me.

After asking other book-reading-humans (trust me, they can’t all be titled this way) about their reading habits, I found that yes…
I am….
a book-reading-alien.
“How can you keep the stories straight?” They asked me.
And, well, I don’t know!
There are so many things to think about in life. How do I keep all those things straight?
THUS, It can not be so very abnormal to read several stories in the same space of time.

It’s not as if I have some crazy story-compacting, super-power brain. Trust me. My A.C.T. scores, I’m sure, would prove that impossible.

If I haven’t already brought my dedication level down by several notches, I am now going to admit to you that I also do not recall ever having stayed up all night reading and/or finishing a book.
This is not to say that I do not have very deep connections to books. My favorite book I have read 3 times. Many of my favorites have exorbitant amounts of underlined, meaningful passages (which is one of the reasons why I do not like to lend out my books… embarrassment). So, this should be evidence enough that my books, and the stories within them, are important to me.

Perhaps I am reaching out.
With billions of humans on this planet, one can make the assumption that others share the same idiosyncrasies. I however, have not found them in my limited circle of friends/acquaintances.
In fact, this has been a common occurrence in most facets of my life. That is to say, it doesn’t much bother me, but I figured why not use the means I have in finding others who might share these interests and idiosyncrasies.

Alien as we may be to some, I’m sure I’d love to find the other habitants of my native land.

And somewhere in these rambling lines of mine is the underlying manifesto for my necessity in creating this blog.