A non-day. Woke up to an as-ever ambitious alarm clock – dialled in with the same speciously calculated air that I give to the two teaspoons of coffee I shake in to a cup in measured iterations - extremely hungover. Assumed dressing gown. Pissed. Collapsed into bed once more. Ouch.
Another house party last night. Can congratulate myself a little more than usual on my extra-special brand of quasi-autistic socialising which was not quite as egregious as it has previously been in my various paranoid and vigilent-self-conscious states. Had a laugh.
I’m not writing at all, though I have at least recognised it as a problem that I would like to rectify [and I am now looking at this as an interesting document. Oh dear, must my innocence be lost so soon? – and yawn, as I write this I think you pretentious wanker! 04.10.01]. I am willing a recrudescenbce of my writerly ambitions. For what else do I want to be? This lack of a specific ambition could easily be seen as a problem, as it is by so many people, but why not take a shot at writing itself, rather than driving myself consciously into some tangential cul de sac before I even fail miserably? And why must that failure be miserable rather than honourable? Is it not entirely ignoble to compromise myself? I have ideas and I must develop them. I can write, I know it. My will power is pathetic and I am conscious of this, but I need only to plan myself into my writing more than I do, just as I have only recently started to plan my essays in this way [I am procrastinating now from doing just that as I an essay due in for Tuesday.]
I have got a first (76) for an essay I thought to be abysmal and incoherent. I think I must concentrate less on this work, free myself a little from my concerns over time and efficiency, my disorded world and trying to do my best all the time. I need to read more novels, let myself relax into a life I wish to live.
I am obsessing once more over a girl down the road. Over all my putative inadequacies. A stuck record.
Ps. If this still is or needs to be a mood diary, I have been great for a long while. I feel both normal and happy/contented and can conclusively reveal that it is most certainly worth it. I’m not ‘up’ now and I’m good. I am healthy.
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