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Sir Arne’s Treasure (1919), directed by Mauritz Stiller
She dwells in a cottage on Sweden’s frozen western coast; he, unbeknownst to her, led the Scotsmen who slew her adoptive family. The romantic tragedy they share sops with guilt. He trudges over the blue-tinted ice, breath visible, an apparition of her dead sister superimposed behind him. She wakes from a nightmare haunted by the same translucent specter, then reaches down to confirm the solidity of her pillows and sheets. The camera scans a desolate landscape, past cliffs and shrubs and piles of snow. Other lovers might have fought toward a happy ending, but these two originate in the feel-bad folklore of novelist Selma Lagerlöf. They will not survive the winter.
Hey. It’s been a long time. Let’s get to it.
I wanna tell you about being bipolar and how weird it is. My moods don’t swing very rapidly normally; I spend most of my life in a (mild to severe) depressive state. I get manic very rarely and when I do it’s usually hypomania. I get manic so rarely that my therapist has suggested that maybe we look into different diagnoses.
But when I do get manic it’s a hell of a ride.
I recently came out of a deep and terrifying depressive state and ran high-speed into full-blown mania. Mania so intense I’m glad I’m broke because who knows what kinda shit I woulda wasted money on. Instead this recent bout of mania was hyper-focused on one thing: deep cleaning and prettifying our apartment. If you’re not interested in the minutiae of cleaning and decorating a small space, this post might not be for you. If you’re down, hit the jump for more.