Monday, December 7, 1981


I kept waking up throughout the night feeling terrible, my mouth dry and seedy, my head acheing. Morning came with a throbbing hangover and a flatulent queasy feeling in my stomach. I was sick.

It was brisk outside and I strode to school half-relishing, half-fearing the day's prospects. I was in a strident, confident sort of mood, being spontaneous and enjoying it but also feeling both guilt and nostalgia about last night. Deborah teased me about Evelyn but Claire seemed to half-ignore me, as if I’d just sunk out of her estimation completely, and when she did speak to me her tone was half-serious, as if she was thinking, “you idiot, why were you doing it?” Evelyn though was in a loud, good mood: Deborah said she was “chuffed” because of last-night (!?).

After school, me, Lee, Laura, Halyna and Peter worked on Twelfth Night scenery, painting all the boxes on the stage slate grey and indulging in crude conversation. We were there until seven-thirty.

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