Monday, April 18, 1983


I woke up feeling bad. I had a stinking headache and so I made myself sick in an effort to speed my recovery. But all morning I felt too ill to do anything.

I went to the bank, then bought some dinner (we’ve got our kitchen back) and, at 2.30, went to my Black Americans seminar with Pete and Susie. The tutor held the stage for most of the two hours and we left feeling fairly overwhelmed by his flood of information.

Instead of going out I went to the library to take my sixteen or so library books back along with a heap of other peoples’.

Shelley at last communicated on something like a civil level: she came in early in the morning to ask me how I’d enjoyed my holiday. She said she isn’t going to spend long hours in packed rooms and wants to "communicate on a more individual basis." Fair enough. She’s been perfectly OK since, although she and Penny are now ignoring Susie, playing little games to see who can say the least to her.

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