Reader, [. . . crap copper package].

This should be a post about Austenland. It is not, not really. But I will begin this post by saying that Austenland is hilarious and you should read/watch it (although I'm pretty sure the line "crap copper package" is only in the movie). Anyone who loves Austen or who knows someone who loves Austen (if you're reading this blog, you probably do) will laugh and fall in love with various accented men.

. . .

Maybe this is a post about Austenland, or at least it begins there. Jane (that's her name) goes to a Austen-era vacation experience (you can't make these things up unless you're Shannon Hale and you already made them up and then wrote the book) to get Mr. Darcy (Colin Firth version) out of her head. When she gets there, she discovers that since she could only afford the copper package (as opposed to the gold, platinum, etc. packages). This means that her clothes are not as fancy as the other guests, she gets the dud horse, the dud relationship, etc. And there is a rather brilliant moment when she exclaims in exasperation "crap copper package."

My fantastic roommate (who I'm dubbing Eden for the purposes of this blog) picked up on this line the first time we saw the movie in the theater. (Wait, eg. First time? How many times have you seen this movie? I honestly cannot say.) "Crap copper package" gets said at least once a week in our house, usually more. But for us it's not about being poor. Maybe a little about that.

It's about being single. More specifically, "older" and single. Maybe it's about us wishing we'd had the Mr. Darcy experience instead of the dud horse experience. It comes into play when wedding announcements arrive, when we're asked to sub in Primary, when we buy more baby blanket flannel for babies who will call us Aunt and not Mom. (Love those nieces and nephews almost too much, but wouldn't mind having one or two who I got to keep. . . )

Sometimes it's just about being disappointed. I got two tickets for a law school event, because they kindly assume that everyone needs two tickets. I don't, plain and simple. I was going to give it back to the school before another friend, also living in the single camp, revealed that she had an extra ticket too. We gave them to a friend and his wife who wouldn't have been able to go otherwise. I'm so glad that it worked out that way, but I carefully harbored the wish that a second-ticket-user would magically appear to escort me to the ball. (Literally--it's a "ball.")

Last week the disappointment was crippling. I tried to think of a more PC word for that, but that's what it was. I couldn't pull myself away from the disappointment, despite knowing that my to-do list was getting longer and longer, that I had responsibilities to myself and others that couldn't be ignored. It wasn't depression so much as distraction. I didn't want to focus on my life anymore, so I focused on the fantasy.

Crap copper package.

But things change. And I could nicely tie it all back to Austenland (or the hilarious sequel Midnight in Austenland--seriously so funny). This week was another round of (sometimes self-inflicted) pressures and challenges, but I'm pulling through. Or I'd at least like to think I am.

. . .
On a completely different note,

I want to write this blog to write this blog, but tonight I really want to write poetry again. So I thought I'd start here. Time to see if this worked. Or can ever work.