Who has the right to try and make us like Wickham?

Last night Mandy and I stayed up too late watching some spin-off of "Pride & Prejudice" that we randomly found on netflix. I was so upset by the end of it that I threw a pillow at the television. And then I proceeded to lay in my bed and cry and try to sleep. That ended up being totally impossible. So then I sat in my bedroom wearing short pants that Kirsten had made for Mandy and reading my pretty copy of P&P. Mostly just the parts where Darcy proposes and Elizabeth is flustered and Darcy proposes and I get to hate Wickham.
I stayed up past one I think. 
I have become irreparably sensitive to all things concerning literature that I like.
It is a downfall.