Once again I find myself posting as another break comes to an end, and again I find I am filled with a sense of disappointment yet also a genuine feeling of rest. No matter how many times I seem to go through it, I always feel bitterly disappointed when I realize that the holidays have ended. Every time, I reflect over the same things - how I've wasted the holiday, how it's terrible getting back into a routine, and so on. I suppose I've already said all I wanted to say on this rather depressing (for me!) matter, so let's move on.

I watched Manhattan Murder Mystery, the last in the batch of Woody Allen DVDs I happen to have, and I have to say, I simply love it. I suppose the right way to go into such a movie is not to expect much, or rather not to expect another Annie Hall sort of movie. The style is totally different, there aren't any bold, new cinematic techniques, nor any tricks with the narrative or time frame; no sir, this is, in essence, just a plain ol' murder mystery, as the title suggests. I think what elevates it above the rest and prevents it from being called light-weight is the Allen touch. Sure, it is light-hearted, but Allen's quirky brand of humour is still alive and kicking ("I can't listen to that much Wagner. I start getting the urge to conquer Poland"). I've read in passing that some find it all a bit repetitive, and that there isn't anything particularly noteworthy about the film. Well, sure, but does everything have to be ground-breaking, darn it!? Perhaps I am over-enthusiastic, considering that I don't watch too many movies these days, but I suppose that doesn't matter, considering that this isn't a review.

I think there is another reason I like the movie, based on the strange condition in my head. I always like to finish off holidays on a nice note, not with a bang or anything, but rather I like to reach this mellow, subdued state of mind, which I suppose lets me clear my mind. I suppose convincing myself that I've watched a nice movie makes me feel like I've achieved that somehow. I really don't know what I'm talking about here, because at times I feel I have no connection to my mind. Whenever I talk about things like this, where I question my true motives and intentions, I wonder why my mind can't rationalize the whole thing and figure out illusion from reality. It's hard to explain, so I think I might stop here, for fear of confusing you.

I have a few ideas for a new story, but unfortunately I don't feel like I have the time anymore. I've had a busier week than I'm accustomed to, and it's made me realize how the grass is greener on the other side, or something to that effect. I think deep down, I prefer quiet, alone time, where I can drown in my own thoughts, regardless of the fact that most of them are totally insane and disjoint. It's merely another of my foibles, I presume. But during these times, I sometimes feel like I should have a busier life, and start paying attention to whatever voice tells me that I'm wasting my life and that I should be out there, doing things (whatever they may be). But I notice that whenever I do get busy, and get less time to myself, I start feeling like I'm missing something essential. I suppose it's as though this private time is the time I use to get my thoughts together (like I said, no matter how strange they may be) and make sure my head in screwed on straight.

Actually, I don't think it's just the fact that I've had a busy week that has prevented me from writing, I think it's also the fact that the holidays are ending. I think that perhaps I want to try and squeeze out every last bit of fun I can out of them, and I don't know whether I count writing as fun. I think it is fun, but a different kind, a ego-stroking kind. Gah, sometimes I wonder why I pontificate on the smallest things, it's not like any of this matters, right?

This may well be the last post of the holidays, so I must apologize in advance for any following posts, for they are sure to contain stream of consciousness ranting and obtuse threats at uni and everything in it. Can't wait!