Tuesday, November 23, 1982


I dreamed about Claire. Such a vivid feeling of contentment rudely shattered when I woke up.

It was another grey day today, both inside and out, and life could so easily become one long monotonous blur. I bought a copy of Sylvia Plath’s Collected Poems and spent a long time in the library. I felt discontented and bored.

I went to Westway Loop Bar and then decided to head to the library again to take out philosophy books, but I was deterred by a thunderous downpour. So I sat in my room while everyone else was out in bars.

Sometimes the nights here make me feel so narrow and claustrophobic.

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