Discord

I got up at eleven and had to rush for my 11.30 tutorial. I persuaded Ade to give me a lift in to campus and got there only a few minutes late. I couldn’t be bothered staying up all night to read Hermsprong and succumbed to sleep at three, with ninety pages read. So I let the other tutee, Phil Dickinson, ramble on from an essay he’d written comparing Hermsprong with William Godwin’s Caleb Williams.

At 2 p.m. I had to see the sub-Dean Ned Ammons so that he could give me a little slap of the wrist over missing two tutorials and handing in my vacation essay six weeks late. He was OK about it, and I spent the rest of the day in the library looking for books for next week’s work.

I had beef burger and chips at Dee’s Diner and bought Robert a Christmas present, The Meditator’s Diary: A Western Woman’s Unique Experience in Thailand Monasteries, before coming home. Discord with Pete; in a huff he’d moved the TV from his room into the bleak back sitting room because he was sick of everyone going in there all the time, but there isn’t an aerial for it now. I was annoyed.

I haven’t seen Lee in a few days, and the couple of times I’ve tried to ring him, the ‘phone has either been engaged or he’s been out.

I have a long list of letters to write: to Nanna P., to Duncan Verity, Claire, and Mum & Dad over the delicate matter of this $800. I’m still undecided. Guy is in a doubtful position over the year abroad too, but whenever I raise the subject with Pete he gets almost indignant and says I’m being stupid for even considering the alternatives, although how the fuck he’s going to afford it I don’t know . . .