Tuesday, March 8, 1983


I didn’t arise from my crumpled and sweaty bed until gone one.

I’ve felt very pissed off all day: in a real stinky mood. I spent some of the afternoon shampooing the sicked-on areas of my carpet and feeling really down, a feeling of boredom and stagnant frustration that's continued most of the day and infects everyone.

Boredom reduced Barry and Stu to pedantic dissections of my every comment. I want the term to end now, and there has got to be some change: I can't go on forever as I am and I ought to try to stay out of things a bit more. I need some measure of independence.

Sick of being like this but at the moment I don’t really care.

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