Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
103
July
9.
Several
times
I
have
gone
to
bed
and
hoped
I
should
never
wake
up.
Life
grows
daily
more
impossible.
To-day
I
put
a
slide
underneath
the
microscope
and
looked
at
it.
It
was
like
looking
at
something
thro'
the
wrong
end
of
a
telescope.
I
sat
with
eye
glued
to
the
ocular,
so
as
to
keep
up
a
pretence
of
work
in
case
some
one
came
in.
My
mind
was
occupied
with
quite
different
affairs.
If
one
is
pondering
on
Life
and
Death,
it
is
a
terrible
task
to
have
to
study
Mites.
July
10.
Am
doing
no
work
at
all....
I
sit
motionless
in
my
chair
and
beat
the
devil's
tattoo
with
my
thumbs
and
think,
think,
think
in
the
same
horrible
circle
hour
after
hour.
I
am
unable
to
work.
I
haven't
the
courage
to.
I've
lost
my
nerve.
At
five
I
return
"home"
to
the
Boarding-house
and
get
more
desperate.
Two
old
maids
sat
down
to
dinner
to-night,
one
German
youth
(a
lascivious,
ranting,
brainless
creature),
a
lady
typist
(who
takes
drugs
they
say),
a
dipsomaniac
(who
has
monthly
bouts--H----
carried
him
upstairs
and
put
him
to
bed
the
other
night),
two
invertebrate
violinists
who
play
in
the
Covent
Garden
Orchestra,
a
colonial
lady
engaged
in
a
bedroom
intrigue
with
a
man
who
sits
at
my
table.
What
are
these
people
to
me?
I
hate
them
all.
They
know
it
and
are
offended.
After
dinner,
put
on
my
cap
and
rushed
out
anywhere
to
escape.
Walked
to
the
end
of
the
street,
not
knowing
where
I
was
going
or
what
doing.
Stopped
and
stared
with
fixed
eyes
at
the
traffic
in
Kensington
Road,
undetermined
what
to
do
with
myself
and
unable
to
make
up
my
mind
(volitional
paralysis).
Turned
round,
walked
home,
and
went
straight
to
bed
9
p.m.,
anxiously
looking
forward
to
to-morrow
evening
when
I
go
to
see
her
again,
but
at
the
same
time
wondering
how
on
earth
I
am
to
get
through
to-morrow's
round
before
the
evening
comes....
This
is
a
hand-to-mouth
existence.
My
own
inner
life
is
scorching
up
all
outside
interests.
Zoology
appears
as
a
curious
thing
in
a
Bagdad
bazaar.
I
sit
in
my
room
at
the
B.M.
and
play
with
it;
I
let
it
trickle
thro'
my
fingers
and
roll
away
like
a
child
playing
with
quicksilver.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
