Full disclosure: I am here because I am sad. I am sad because yesterday/today is my dad's birthday. Another one. You know how you wait for something, like Christmas, and then it never goes as planned and you say, next year. Next year it'll be different. There isn't anything special about my dad's birthdays; they come and go every year like clockwork, and until recently I thought we made a big deal out of them unnecessarily. Unnecessarily because who needs one more day to grieve, when the year already offers so many? I have had time to change my mind. Now that we just let them pass us by, somehow it hurts more. Because you wanna move on, don't you? You want the pain to ease up. You want to. But you also don't want to forget, to even seem like you've forgotten that someone's missing. You make the pain yours and you want to carry the weight, because if you don't, who will? So, yes, another birthday has come and gone and where was I? I was in the office, dealing with life. I was at home, planning a graduation party that stings like a bitch. I was in the car, thinking that it's the 27th again and why does everything rotate around this day? Fuck New Year's. I start a new year every August. Maybe that's why the school year fits me so well. In the struggle to move on and also not forget, you end up not doing either. Not very well at least. I have moved on you see, I have a proper life with proper ups and downs, but I also cling strenuously to my memories. I have forgotten things, or I have started to get things mixed up. Sometimes I do not know what is memory and what is a photograph. Sometimes I pretend I am fine when I really am not, just because you gotta look the part; it's been 15 years, who really expects me to break down every few weeks? Sometimes I need to pour my thoughts onto something, and just as suddenly as the urge has come, the urge goes. Like now. I am spent.
On the subject of Victorian Literature again, here is the full-on essay on George Eliot and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. I don't understand why my tutor marked me down on this one, in spite of the lengthy comment she left me, so I'd welcome input on this one. Overall, in my opinion, I could perhaps have written more, but then again, at the time I couldn't come up with anything lengthier than what I'm posting.
The Tangled Tale of Hair in Victorian Fiction