I have this terrible tendency to get so enveloped in a book that it actually becomes my life (in my head).
I just finished reading The Good Wife Strikes Back. I think I might have liked it, but I'm not really sure. It surely made my life rather disconcerting for a week or so. And it really really made me want to drink wine all. of. the. time.
I loved the way the author writes, and I loved all this crazy underlying symbolism in like, every sentence.
However, I'm pretty sure that I am a sommelier, my father just died, I'm a trophy wife to a politician, and I have a really clean fancy house. And I eat bacon and bread and tea all the time.
reality: I don't know wine (I like pinot noir- that's all I know), my dad is kickin', I'd be a trophy wife if I got out of my pajamas at a decent hour, my house is neither clean nor fancy. It's debatable whether or not I eat bacon, bread and tea all of the time. Most of the time would be more suitable to say.
I also realize that I'm writing like an English woman. Terrible? Disconcerting? Rather? Suitable? uh huh.