All of a dither

I'm not usually one to shy away from the limelight, but I prefer my audience not to openly mock me.

There's this girl, you see, who we'll call Rosie as that is her name; I haven't changed anybody's names here, as I realise if I did I'd forget and there'd be huge gaping irrevocably discordant elements to the stories, as Vera changes to Alice who changes to Karen who changes to Beatrice who changes to Donna who maybe changes to Susan, who might eventually change to Karl as I get more and more confused. I could do this for hours.
You can see where this is going already, can't you?

Procrastination.

It's one of the things I really am remarkably remarkable at.

As a result of teeming and distracting uncertainty as to what to do about Rosie, coffee and my favourite book of the year so far are no longer helping. Far from it, in fact.
So! I've turned to Jane Austen for solace; she was right about everything else after all, so why shouldn't she be right about the courting rituals of the modern human? In depth study is making it clear to me that relationships aren't just about Willoughby's good looks and charm, or Wickham's easy manner; they're based on other, deeper things.
Leaving out Hugh Grant's endearing stutter, and Gwyneth Paltrow's strangely seductive accent.

This is, of course, proving to be something of a revelation to me.