Time, and it's Quickness

It's already the 8th of February and it seems to me it was Christmas just the other day. What's that all about?

Last I wrote I complained about being at work but, as predicted, the next day went by in high spirits. I'm feeling confident and happy and it's ever so nice. It also helps that the atmosphere at the office is warm and playful. At my previous job on the other hand it seems it's been going downhill since I left. It's a shame actually.

Today I've seen Casablanca on the big screen, with a new print. It's certainly not the best of movies (and Howard Hawks' superficially similar To Have and Have Not made two years later is ever so much better), but it's still a very good film. It works on three levels: as a romantic thriller, as a political allegory about the Second World War and, today, as a mythological story which everybody knows and which has become a part of everyday life, with the music, the characters and the dialogue having a life of it's own. It has a kind of aura around it that very few films have. It's also a triumph of atmosphere and setting with Michael Curtiz' raw poetry being the perfect complement to the mixture of heartfelt romance and hilarious cynicism.

While I'm on the subject of the Second World War... I've also finished reading Unconditional Surrender. It's, as I've said, the last part of Evelyn Waugh's war trilogy Sword of Honour and it gets darker and more tragic as it progresses, up to its devastating climax. It's very good, and it made me want to reread Brideshead Revisited, still Waugh's masterpiece.

My next book is Gentlemen of the Road, by Michael Chabon. More on that later. Now I'd like to eat some crackers.

Phones and Essays

I bought a cordless phone the other day, and I feel like it's the beginning of a new era. I've been meaning to get one since forever, and now, finally, freedom has arrived. Since I'm so very seldom home, I have only used it twice so far, but it felt good.

When not talking on the phone. I'm supposed to be writing on an essay. It's not all that funny, not because it's difficult, but because it's boring. But I'm in no hurry, so I can afford myself the luxury of going about it slowly.

I'm no longer as sad and upset as I was when last I wrote. Now the feeling that lingers on is loneliness, not actually sadness. And loneliness is easier to handle than sadness. One thing though is making it harder, and that is the time of year. I wonder when it will be warm again, when winter will vanish. Loneliness comes easier when it's cold and dark outside.

I'm reading For Whom the Bell Tolls at the moment, and I love it, and I feel like I always want to carry a copy of it with me. Some books by Hemingway have that effect on me, like I want to pat them, after I've finished reading them. I wonder why.