I feel exactly like Elizabeth Bennet just after she refused Mr. Collins and she's sitting on the swing in the garden, spinning around and around.
Except that I haven't just refused a marriage proposal. And I'm sitting at a desk, facing a cinder block wall, the (finally working) water heater humming to my left. And my best friend isn't about to tell me that she's marrying the very man I just refused. Who is ridiculous.
But I still feel like Elizabeth Bennet on that swing.
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