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The Twenty Year's Crisis and Immortality

I find myself a few entries behind in this journal of mine. Every other day, I make a point of thinking to myself that I want (or ought) to write down something regarding my Easter-weekend visit to my sister's home in Montreal. It also occurs to me with gaining urgency that I should write the memories of the birthday gathering at the Highlander which falls back behind us now with slowly increasing distance. Usually, however, I find that I cannot write, and certainly cannot write well. Often, I find that I cannot read, or cannot read attentively. Often, it seems to take me a month or two to fully recuperate from a year (or two) of burning the metaphorical candle at both of its ends; this seems to be the case at preset. My memory seems is interestingly non-linear when my thoughts are relaxed (or perhaps, the illusion of linear memory with which we present ourselves is more illusive); subtle details of moments with others, or passages read, occur to awareness when they're not specifically sought-for, as thin and ephemeral associations are tripped and fired.

Currently, I'm reading E.H. Carr's The Twenty Year's Crisis, and Milan Kundera's Immortality. Carr's book is quite competent; not terribly heavy, but interesting enough, and thoughtful. Kundera's book will have to await its review, assuming that the intention to review it is remembered.

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