Epiphany.

The other night I went with Xan to see the new Jane Eyre. I LOVE Jane Eyre. I have seen 4 adaptations of the book, and this one was, hands down, the best. Other versions, much as I love them, are not true to the book. They leave out important characters or do other awkward things which make me sad. I don't have any idea how they did it, but this version was true to the novel without being five hours long. I loved it.

I love the novel. It was my very first classic novel, and Mr. Rochester was my first love. Don't get me wrong, I know he's a jerk. A big jerk. As is Heathcliff, but my affection does not extend to him. I have kind feelings towards Darcy, Wentworth, and Knightly...but my heart belongs to Rochester. Colonel Brandon, Edward Ferrars, and Edmund Bertram are nice guys, but too much milquetoast for me. Nope. Rochester ruined me. And the result is that I love jerks to this day.

It's a problem, and it's Charlotte Bronte's fault.