On Loving Mr. Darcy and Having to Write

I don't know why I have this saved without a reference to the site I got it from, but alas, that is the case. Upon my fifth completion of Pride and Prejudice tonight (no, not fifth time tonight, just it happens to be that tonight was the fifth time I've completed Pride and Prejudice and this sentence's structure is poor), I have come to the realization that not only am I in love with Mr. Darcy, but that I will never be as proficient a writer as Jane Austen. Ever. That's okay, I suppose, since I don't plan on writing novels (ever), but regardless, it would be nice to think myself capable of such a feat.

Another thing I realized tonight is that hitherto I have been convincing myself that majoring in Creative Writing isn't as bad as it sounds because I am learning "a skill." However, it has occured to me both while reading Pride and Prejudice and at some point in my davening on Yom Kippur, that I am just being silly. Sometimes I imagine what I'd do with the money won from writing contests, but of course, I have yet to enter any. Other times, I like thinking about how much fun it'll be editing an essay with someone I admire (like a Ruth Reichl, perhaps?) once in grad. school, but of course, I have yet to attain my diploma.

And since this is making very little sense (I blame the late hour), I will stop rambling and end this silly, pointless rant that was intended solely to postpone writing my paper that is due tomorrow and write my paper. I do not even know what I've just written.