Sunday, May 16, 1982
Over and over
In the morning, with the house quiet (Dad on earlies, Nanna P. slumbering peacefully upstairs) Mum and I got around to talking about Dad. He's like two different people: one is nature-loving and peaceful, but the other is a zealous jingoistic warmonger. It’s almost like he's schizophrenic.
The reason for our discussion was another argument last night, in which Dad was totally unable to understand our point of view. It was incredible. Mum was virtually agreeing with my pseudo-anarchistic opinions and when I said that the only difference between Argentinians and Britons are their respective governments, she backed me up, endorsing my view point for once. Yet when Dad bellowed “Well what would YOU do?” I was stuck. I don't know, and I'm totally unable to provide “constructive criticisms.”
This is what's confusing about the whole thing. I'm opposed to the system but can’t think of anything better–well I can, but it always sounds so incredibly way out I dare not say anything.
I worked on my first art composition for tomorrow, drawing an abstract piece which I quite like, and I’m looking forward to the exam’ now. I listened to Ornette Coleman over and over again all day: it's really good.