Computer Dreams
I pinpointed my feelings on Deb's pregnancy. Same I had when Naomi told me she had got married. A sense that life is passing me by. I felt that on Saturday but not any more. I am increasingly being drawn to the works of Bruce Chatwin, that kind of loneliness of the traveller. I have the itching foot and feel I must go. I have a few months left here and at least a year in Leeds. Mum has found a teaching postgrad for which I would get paid £6000. Deadline is August. I think I would actually enjoy that. It would set me well financially. I have absolutely no intention to enter teaching professionally however. The government fails again. I'm taking the money and running. It can at the very least get me a boat that's livable on. I would be happy with that. No worries about housing.
I have taken to the library for a daily fix of writing. I only get an hour here which is annoying but will do until the net is restored at home. I am glad of this, it helps to soothe me. It allows me to write that which I could not do by hand. I do keep a handwritten journal. It has about a dozen entries over two years. I could never have thought of writing as a career if I had been born at another time. I simply do not have the discipline for prolongued hand writing. Even now, I find it much easier to enter into this diary than to continue with my novel, which I have restarted yet again. About five different beginnings in as many years, but this time I think I have finally come to an understanding about the art that will allow me to continue. But it is a slow process.
Today has so far been leisurely, the best of many weeks. Woke about ten to find that Ruth was ill and rehearsal was cancelled. Stayed in bed and read until twelve until I ventured here to write. The only downside being that I cannot quote from what I have read. Quite a pleasantly warm day, although I have no doubt that it will chasten later. It is ironic that Carlisle has escaped the snow that has stopped most of the country these past couple of weeks. I cannot wait for the summer however. I keep catching myself admiring my tan. It is one of the best aspects, I feel, of inhabiting this particular body. My tan's last for years. My first tan I remember, I must have got about 3 years of age. In the valleys we would be outside constantly running around on the mountains even at such an early age, it was true freedom. I had that tan at least until I was nine or ten. It was a proper tan, a gold rather than a brown. I've always been proud of it.
Why oh why am I lost in these pallid winter and early spring months. Come summer I know my life shall once again become jam packed with work. I long for blue sky, a worthy heat. A sun that burns. Of course I know that as soon as these things come around the heat will exhaust me and trouble my sleep and I will wish for winter. I feel alone again.
Going to Sabs' this evening and we will go clubbing. She seems to be alone too, although she does not show it. She has her family and a few people. She is, like all women are now, someone who hates to show emotion. I am like that also, but I wish I could.
She is so painfully thin. When I sleep with her I can feel her ribs.
Ray calls her a Jew, presumably as a friendly insult. From reading diaries today, I was struck by how people see someone and draw inferences. How can they tell a Jew if they do not wear the clothes? Leon was Jewish but he had to tell me so. Now that I think, I can see the similarities between him and Sabs, who couldn't be less interested in religion if she tried. Ray looks as Jewish as any of them but probably has as much Gypsy blood as anything.
I feel that my face would have been considered handsome in the Edwardian era. Striking even. I personally consider myself handsome now, but only when I shave and bother with vanity and that is rarely. I wander about with my left eyebrow almost permanently raised. I consider my face a lot, I do not think I would swap it for another, it is not a face that can show my feelings and emotions. It is thin and high and my eyes are permanently hidden behind spectacles. It is rigid and uneffusive and faintly ridiculous but I have become attached to it. It is me and it becomes me more than any other could have.
I wish to talk of many other things, of politics, religion, friends and enemies but time runs short and I must adjourn until my next opportunity.
I have taken to the library for a daily fix of writing. I only get an hour here which is annoying but will do until the net is restored at home. I am glad of this, it helps to soothe me. It allows me to write that which I could not do by hand. I do keep a handwritten journal. It has about a dozen entries over two years. I could never have thought of writing as a career if I had been born at another time. I simply do not have the discipline for prolongued hand writing. Even now, I find it much easier to enter into this diary than to continue with my novel, which I have restarted yet again. About five different beginnings in as many years, but this time I think I have finally come to an understanding about the art that will allow me to continue. But it is a slow process.
Today has so far been leisurely, the best of many weeks. Woke about ten to find that Ruth was ill and rehearsal was cancelled. Stayed in bed and read until twelve until I ventured here to write. The only downside being that I cannot quote from what I have read. Quite a pleasantly warm day, although I have no doubt that it will chasten later. It is ironic that Carlisle has escaped the snow that has stopped most of the country these past couple of weeks. I cannot wait for the summer however. I keep catching myself admiring my tan. It is one of the best aspects, I feel, of inhabiting this particular body. My tan's last for years. My first tan I remember, I must have got about 3 years of age. In the valleys we would be outside constantly running around on the mountains even at such an early age, it was true freedom. I had that tan at least until I was nine or ten. It was a proper tan, a gold rather than a brown. I've always been proud of it.
Why oh why am I lost in these pallid winter and early spring months. Come summer I know my life shall once again become jam packed with work. I long for blue sky, a worthy heat. A sun that burns. Of course I know that as soon as these things come around the heat will exhaust me and trouble my sleep and I will wish for winter. I feel alone again.
Going to Sabs' this evening and we will go clubbing. She seems to be alone too, although she does not show it. She has her family and a few people. She is, like all women are now, someone who hates to show emotion. I am like that also, but I wish I could.
She is so painfully thin. When I sleep with her I can feel her ribs.
Ray calls her a Jew, presumably as a friendly insult. From reading diaries today, I was struck by how people see someone and draw inferences. How can they tell a Jew if they do not wear the clothes? Leon was Jewish but he had to tell me so. Now that I think, I can see the similarities between him and Sabs, who couldn't be less interested in religion if she tried. Ray looks as Jewish as any of them but probably has as much Gypsy blood as anything.
I feel that my face would have been considered handsome in the Edwardian era. Striking even. I personally consider myself handsome now, but only when I shave and bother with vanity and that is rarely. I wander about with my left eyebrow almost permanently raised. I consider my face a lot, I do not think I would swap it for another, it is not a face that can show my feelings and emotions. It is thin and high and my eyes are permanently hidden behind spectacles. It is rigid and uneffusive and faintly ridiculous but I have become attached to it. It is me and it becomes me more than any other could have.
I wish to talk of many other things, of politics, religion, friends and enemies but time runs short and I must adjourn until my next opportunity.
posted by Caractacus at 13:04
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