Wednesday, April 21, 1982
More fine weather all day, more pessimism from Hirst at our failure to understand Conrad which was painfully apparent. I felt weirdly guilty that I find the book mystifying and that I'm unable to grasp the ideas I sense fit in somewhere (the void, etc., Naipaul). Otherwise, school was pleasantly innocuous. In Film Society we watched Animal House.
At home when I'm on my own I take myself so seriously but I can't get this across at school: I change somehow, and start to feel unconvincing and stale, almost as if I'm parodying myself. It's like I’m waiting for a time to be serious yet one day soon I’ll wake up and wonder where all the time has gone and be stuck with my thoughts, alone.