Today I picked up Jane Eyre for the fourth time in my life and the third time in as many years. (I first tried to read it when I was 10…yeah, not an easy transition from Goosebumps.) And now I remember why it’s a bad idea for me to read Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre is my shoulder devil.
I’m not like that book character who reads too many novels and it fucks with her ability to tell reality from fiction (the nanny in the Turn of the Screw, Madam Bovary, Catherine Morland, etc.), but sometimes reading books can have a certain effect on me. Jane Eyre is one of these. Right after college, I was pissy about a lot of drama going on and Jane Eyre fueled my fire. Jane Eyre is bitter and not afraid to say whatever she thinks. When I read Jane Eyre, I feel like she possesses me a little bit and I’m always at a slow simmer and then quick to boil over.
Also I’m in a great level of physical discomfort. I should not be typing this. I have symptoms consistent with tendonitis of the wrists again and trying to stay off of computer is impossible. I was barely on it all weekend and have been staying off and icing at night pretty well I feel like all that rest has been undone by my shitty office, which gave me one of the only desks that does not have a keyboard tray. I had no problems at all in college. It only started here. So much for my month-long writing challenge. It hurts jus to type up my handwritten notes. I have already missed too much work this pay period and last that I cannot afford to go to the doctor.
Also, I’m PMSing, which means when my boss snipes at me for things like sending an email instead of calling, I feel my blood just boil.