You are not quite as confusing as you imagine yourself to be. At least, confusing is not the word I would choose. You come across in your letters as someone who is unhappy and jaded and displeased with his world, despite having been dangerously charming once upon a time. You also seem as if you have a healthy dose of self-loathing. (I would go so far as to assign this as the reason you feel you do not deserve the care you are receiving from your friends, family, lovers. They must care about you, if they are caring for you, and I will hear no argument to the contrary.) It makes me wonder what you feel is so bad in you that isn't there in equal measure in the rest of us. I think you'd find you are not alone in your flaws, if you but looked.
I do apologize, however, for tormenting your dreams. I recommend you choose your return book selection as punishment. And you should know better than to refuse to dance in a Jane Austen related dream. I am certain that is why I was put out and not the argument. I like arguing literature with you, and I cannot imagine that would change in a dream. Also, I own at least one empire waist dress; are you terribly frightened?
Persuasion is partly about changing points of view, yes, but it is primarily about the writer's struggle to justify her life. It is very biopic, as all of Austen's novels are. You can almost trace her own personality changes through the timeline of her work. Or do you feel authors write nothing of themselves in their works of fiction?
Your comment about my imagination demands that you offer your own opinion of the stage I mentioned.
My former lover, who we have upgraded from his post-script status, is little changed since we were together. He is sadder, older, and still hiding behind the vices he hid behind when last we met. I'll admit, with unrequested candor, that he cheated on me and, subsequently, left me. (Am I now an elderly spinster anew?) His fallen state had nothing to do with me, and so I do not congratulate myself; nor do I take any joy in it. I would have liked to find him happier, his demons exorcised, perhaps with the aid of someone more suited to help him deal with them than I was.
I can help you decide what to send me, if you wish: Send me what you feel the most in this moment. I am ever curious, and I will spend the entire read trying to figure out why you chose it.
Claire, who thinks people who clean and make soup are an outrage.
P.S. Are you going to call my employers and tell them that our e-mails are conducive to your literary endeavor, in order to save me from the brooding vampire children?