My euphoria continues, although I am indecisive as to whether it is rising or falling. Sometimes, it seems to grow greater and swell higher, yet at other times, it seems to be falling from its fever pitch, almost screaming all the way down into a slight depression. That's usually during the irritability of first light of morning though. Although, even the thought of a hot shower brings my mood up several degrees and once its done, I am very well indeed.
But the euphoria doesn't admit much room for eloquence. It never does.
There are even fewer events today to impart. The bulk of my thoughts (which I would be willing to speak of) have centered on a very inconsequential occurence. My finishing Emma last night.
I have spent the last four days, in almost constant harmony with that book. I read about one hundred pages a day. The characters were my bosom friends and their home was mine. Highbury was my village. Hartfield was my home. I believe I was just as madly in love with Mr. Knightley as Emma was... I miss him dearly. I miss them all. The greatest grief of today was my inability to sit down in my chair and continue my walks about gardens and dinner parties with those fine people. It had been my home for four days...I kept expecting it to be there still...but it wasn't...
I miss Mr. Knightley... I want one of my own...Yes, that was my unfinished thought last night. What a silly girl I am.
But it does not have me too low in spirits...grieving for the loss of this world...I replace it with the revolving world of Vanity Fair for the second time around. I am so easily bored and so impatient for new material, that I have not read many books more than once, no matter how good, but I admit that the second time around can be far more interesting. One knows better what is going to happen, and can catch and glean a lot more meaning from the plot and characters. True, there is nothing like the first entering of the world, but then, there is nothing quite like the second. After that, the readings begin to blend, but I would hardly know because few books have I read more than three times. The only exceptions being some of my most favorite Madeline L'Engle books.
Yet even the hopes of having one literary world replaced with another are not the only things to keep my spirits lifted. I have more. All my private happinesses, joys, and indulgences. I veritably live in the sky. There are very few clouds constantly in my horizon, dark and forbidding indeed, quick to cover my sight and make my heart ache, but as long as I pay them little heed, and let those burdens fall as far from my sight as possible, I will stay flying steady.
I believe this cup can only hold a few more drops before it overflows... Almost to the brim...oh dear... so much bliss...
It's too soon...
So much bliss...