Anyway, now that the novel is over for me, I'm a little sad. I feel like I'm cut off from some friend that has become important to me. I feel as if I've spent a good deal of time with Jane Eyre, visiting on the living room couch and over lunch, talking late into the night about Mr. Rochester like friends do (Dave has been away for every evening for the last week and a half, at least). Now I have to find a new friend to keep me company. 
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(5) Tue Sep 27 2005 22:20 Engrossed:
I've just finished reading Jane Eyre today. All last week I was suffering on the couch with the worst cold, but enjoying immensely Charlotte Bronte's novel. Then Atticus became ill with the same fevered, achy sickness, and it was easy to continue reading. The book was spellbinding. I think that being sick and sleeping poorly contributed to this feeling. I like to think my sleepless condition paralleled Jane Eyre's, though on very different grounds. First, Atticus needed attention in the night because of his cold. He needed Ibuprofen, a cool washcloth on his forehead--even had delirious dreams (he was convinced Samuel had left the house and gone to the neighbors). Then, with that phase of night-wakings over, Samuel had a mishap with his soother that gave us opportunity to get rid of the thing altogether. So Samuel spent a restless night getting over the deprivation of his plastic comforter (this is a blog entry in itself--the process of weaning an almost three-year-old of a pacifier).