Saturday, August 6, 1983

Triple word score

I languish in my self-made cell cursing my psychological prison bars. Time slips away while I sit here anticipating the next day, and the next, and letting each go by wasted. Work sits gathering dust . . . A few games of Scrabble to enliven the monotony.

I’m an oaf.

Andrew leaves for London on Friday. I’ve enjoyed his company this time and I’ll miss him.

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