Some of my friends may tease and call me a post-Victorian relic, but when I spend a few days at home I realize that I would have gone absolutely mad if I really had lived the typical Victorian woman’s life. There’s this restlessness that I feel when I have nothing to do and eventually everything just feels like a distraction from the fact that I am not doing anything productive. I have a rotating work schedule, so some weeks I work all my hours over the course of the weekend, leaving me with the rest of the week off. It’s nice, I have to admit, but being at home makes me get a little cabin feverish. I’ll spend some time doing schoolwork, reading, writing, watching movies on Netflix (I don’t really watch TV, so that one’s out), but eventually there is nothing left to do but get up and walk around.
It always makes me think of Caroline Bingley and Lizzie taking a turn about the room. Imagine living in a world where you really have nothing to do? I could not be so still. I’m sure the activities of eighteenth and nineteenth century girls provided their pleasures, but how much sitting around can one girl take? I need to get out of this house.
marginalia and such 