I went to campus to collect my grant, intending to see tutors but never quite managing it and instead sitting about for hour upon hour with Stu and Gareth before going into town and buying Robert an LP of Tibetan ritual music he’d asked me to get.
A desultory evening, TV-bound, thinking about the things I have to do and never quite manage, or do badly (today’s miserable lines being a prime example). The fire is gone and I don’t know what I must do to rekindle it—sit down and think, I suppose, but this seems a near impossibility in a 5’ x 9’ room piled high with records, record player and clothes and while I’m also prey to a chaotic regime of no-thought and disorder.
This journal is all about trying to construct some structured meaning from transient chaos; this is why it’s most difficult when my life is at its undisciplined worst. All I can do is trudge on and remember what is possible.
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