We fell silent; only the birds spoke in a multitude of small, clear voices in the lime-trees; only the waters spoke among their carved stones
I’m in the livingroom trying to finish Brideshead Revisited once an for all. I think I must have been reading on and off for almost two years now. Amazing how I cannot finish this book. It’s very dusty. When I have it in my hands I feel the need to sneeze. Yet, it’s so utterly comical, so funny. I suppose I have problems understanding what it’s really about. Is it about Charles and Sebastian? Is it about Charles and Julia? Is it about love? Is it about friendship? About deceit? Is it about family? The movie they made a couple of years ago emphasize the relationship between Charles and Julia. But this story occupies only half the novel. Hmm…. I suppose I just don’t really get it. But I do enjoy it every time I pick it up. But will I ever finish it?
I’m so tired, yet extremely happy to be leaving this upersonal place in just three weeks. I never really belonged here. I don’t like it. Can’t wrap my head around how things work here. Or maybe the problem is that I can, and that this fact annoys me. I need a challenge. I need a project. I want adventure. And Paris is adventure. Everything is difficult in that noisy chaos of cars, frenchmen and chateaux. I don’t mind leaving our beautiful garden behind. I don’t mind not having any money. I don’t mind the small appartment. I just want to go HOME.
Headache is killing me. Think I’ll bring Evelyn to bed.