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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
199
February
28.
What
a
boon
is
Sunday!
I
can
get
out
of
bed
just
when
the
spirit
moves
me,
dress
and
bath
leisurely,
even
with
punctilio.
How
nice
to
dawdle
in
the
bath
with
a
cigarette,
to
hear
the
holiday
sound
of
Church
bells!
Then
comes
that
supreme
moment
when,
shaven,
clean,
warm
and
hungry
for
breakfast
and
coffee,
I
stand
a
moment
before
the
looking-glass
and
comb
out
my
towzled
hair
with
a
parting
as
straight
as
a
line
in
Euclid.
That
gives
the
finishing
touch
of
self-satisfaction,
and
I
go
down
to
breakfast
ready
for
the
day's
pleasure.
I
hate
this
weekday
strain
of
having
to
be
always
each
day
at
a
set
time
in
a
certain
place.
March
3.
I
often
sit
in
my
room
at
the
B.M.
and
look
out
at
the
traffic
with
a
glassy,
mesmerised
face--a
fainéant.
How
different
from
that
extremely
busy
youth
who
came
to
London
in
1912.
Say--could
that
lad
be
I?
How
many
hours
do
I
waste
day-dreaming.
This
morning
I
dreamed
and
dreamed
and
could
not
stop
dreaming--I
had
not
the
will
to
shake
myself
down
to
my
task....
My
memories
simply
trooped
the
colour.
It
surprised
me
to
find
how
many
of
them
had
gone
out
of
my
present
consciousness
and
with
what
poignancy
of
feeling
I
recognised
them
again!
How
selfishly
for
the
most
part
we
all
live
in
our
present
selves
or
in
the
selves
that
are
to
be.
Then
I
raced
thro'
all
sorts
of
future
possibilities--oh!
when
and
how
is
it
all
going
to
end?
How
do
you
expect
me
to
settle
down
to
scientific
research
with
all
this
internal
unrest!
The
scientific
man
above
all
should
possess
the
"quiet
mind
in
all
changes
of
fortune"--Sir
Henry
Wotton's
How
happy
is
he
born
and
taught.
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