Tuesday, October 19, 1982
I'm a cliché
I’ve just been down and wasted £1.00 on the pinball machine in the Common room.
I didn’t get up until one today, the day virtually gone again already. Just like yesterday, I went to the library but because of weakness and indecisiveness I didn’t do a thing. I'm really overwhelmed by my essay in philosophy: I can’t do it! Instead I went and bought two books, The Portable Mark Twain (we have to read “Huck. Finn” plus short stories for next Monday), and The Portable Thoreau (for “Walden”)
Given my pitiful habit of sitting round in the kitchen ALL the time I can’t help inadequate thoughts. This now sounds horribly familiar, like a recurring nightmare-echo from the past (There's so much I should be doing. I’m letting it slip me by!) I have to go out into Watermouth, out into the countryside, force myself into different situations.
I imagine getting involved in some political group but I’m always haunted by doubts and fears which stops me. I imagine myself this horrible clichéd poser saying No! This is not the way it should be! Then I imagine myself quietly reading, and get bedeviled by feelings of isolation.