Friday, April 8, 1983

Sacred, profane

I was supposed to go to Lee’s today but he has relatives coming. Jeremy also rang asking me if I fancied going with him to Midgeroyd to see Ms. Hirst, but I declined.

Nothing really worthy of recording has happened. We had a dinner table discussion about Robert and Buddhism. Andrew said his Saxton visit was “tense,” and that he finds Robert's zealousness about his “religion” embarrassing and “very depressing.” Dad chipped in with a story about being trapped one morning while Robert talked at him at great length about Buddhism.

In the afternoon, Andrew and I talked some more, this time about drugs. He hates the way the drug ‘scene’ is built up into some sort of sacred thing and instead thinks all the paraphernalia, the solemn cross-legged circles, cupped hands, mirrors, razor blades, the hunched nighttime get togethers, etc., is one big pose and “seedy.”

I know exactly what he means, but I thought of myself with the amphetamines, razor blade and scraps of secretively folded paper in my wallet. How well I conform to the stereotype. I made a decision not to smoke dope early last term as all it does is make me drowsy and silent and I kept to that apart from the occasional moment of drunken weakness. Speed has its limitations too.

I’m looking forward to going to Grant's tonight and just hope the evening doesn’t slip into a stranglehold of boredom.

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