Sunday, September 16, 1984

Carcass of self

Sunday slid by and I no longer remember how. Mum surprised me, making me promise that I’ll ask Jeremy if he wants to go to America after we finish university. She frequently says that she doesn’t care what I do so long as I “get a good degree.”

God, I am sick of thinking through problems and reaching brick-wall of No Solution time after time.

My brain swims with ideas; fragments and snatches of one way, then another . . . this and that route opening up and slipping away again but still I sit on my fat backside. This stinking carcass of self is doomed to a life of miserable self-pity and nostalgia for moments gone, unless . . . unless . . . I decide to grab hold of everything and anything and DO, DO, DO.

Life is here all round me for the use of. Why can’t I release that joy and trembling excitement at things-future all the time?

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