Monday, September 4

Misery Chastain cannot be dead

I finished The Mill on the Floss whilst eating lunch at McDonald's. First, let's not go into why I was eating at McDonald's. Second, let's not mention how I was the only freak reading an actual book at McDonald's. Third, how freaky was it that I saw my boss from my very first real job? I did not say hi, and she did not notice me. Or she did and she was ignoring me. Whatever. That's not the point. The point is this: I lingered at f-ing McDonald's for an hour and a half, looking like a loser who goes to the beach only to get copies of Byron kicked in her face, and f-ing George Eliot cheats the ending. Look, lady, I did not read 485 pages of you describing the lane in detail for you to wrap up your messy characters and relationships with a simple, "Oh, yeah, and then they died." Cheater!

And I can't even threaten not to read anymore of her long-ass books because I've already read them. I take it back! I did not read Middlemarch! Or Daniel Deronda! Or Adam Bede! Screw you, lady.

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