Wednesday, October 20, 1982
I'm ashamed to admit that I didn’t go to bed until 4.30. I woke up at 2.30 p.m. once more. It’s not as if I did anything exciting.
I’ve felt very depressed and down today. At teatime I sat in the kitchen and talked with Rowan (she's Scottish, petite and dark, and seems quaintly domesticated). She stared at me as we talked, her eyes deep and fathoming as if she was analysing me, and she has this habit of talking in a very general way and then, suddenly, swooping in to ask a direct and penetratingly deep question. She said I was “witty.” I ended up feeling quite the manic depressive.
The day has been dark and gloomy both inside and out. I think I will—I must!—leave campus tomorrow. I’ve been incarcerated here since a week on Saturday.