She would get the flowers herself

As I was laying in bed reading earlier I came to a startling revelation...

Virginia Woolf's writing appeals to me so much because my brain works in exactly the same way that she writes. Paragraphs and paragraphs of what seem to be unconnected thoughts and descriptions that melt together to form beautiful, usually somewhat melancholy pictures.

Weird. And, you know, vaguely awesome. Well...awesome until I remember that Virginia Woolf put stones in her pockets and walked into a river anyway.