Anais Nin rarely speaks of war in her Diaries, and when she does, she keeps it brief. In this entry of her Diary, it is New Year's Eve, and she has stayed up until 6:30 the next morning. She has a feeling that it could be the last night of drinking, dancing, laughing - the last night of pleasure, and she wants to make the most of it because tomorrow could be war and all the horrors that come with it - cannons, alarms, blood. She wants to drop the mediocre and create an extraordinary life.
Time is one of our precious commodities, and we seem to become aware of that fact only when it is threatened, whether by war or middle age or some other event. We want to have accomplishments, achievements, recognition, pleasures, a life worth having. We want to eliminate waste and the irrelevant and cut back to the essential. We realize it is now or never.
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