faewrites
Bio
Four-and-twenty years of age. No good amiable prospects. Can hardly be expected to act my age. Cannot boil potatoes, be they excellent, mashed, or stuck in a stew. Quite plain, although my sister would never admit to it. I've reached the stage in my life that Charlotte has never become more relatable. Mr Collins, upon re-watching (and re-reading, mind), has become a seriously good prospect. I, too, would like to keep my own house and have a sodding job. Instead I have daddy issues which make most men over the age of forty far more attractive than they should ever have the right to be, I'm a frigid, cloistered nun who should start thinking about her biological clock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Apart from the fact that I'm barely allowed to leave my home without informing Dad-I6, I've also become even more depressed, socially anxious and agoraphobic than I was before, making it quite difficult to go anywhere.
Why would I choose to share this with the world? I don't know. Might just be my frustration talking. While I'm waiting for something to happen, to go on an adventure to the great wide somewhere (I do want that more than I can tell), I'm hiding in fiction, but mostly fan fiction. With a master's degree in English literature, I had expected I'd read tons now that I finally have time to do so. Instead I've chosen to teach myself maths, feeling too annoyed with myself for dropping the course while in high school.
If I can't have my happy ever after in real life, I'll write about it. My personal silly privileged struggles probably explain my propensity for strange love matches and morally dubious imperfect men.
If you see many grammatical errors, sure. I studied literature, not the English language itself. I was taught English syntax by a teacher whose Bulgarian accent was so thick, I couldn't hear a word she said and what I did hear was 'we do the homeworks now', so, I don't think I ever had a chance.
Enough about me, how you doin'?