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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
206
"These
bloody
insects,"
I
said
to
an
Australian
entomologist
of
rare
quality.
"A
good
round
oath,"
he
answered
quietly.
"If
it
was
a
square
one
it
wouldn't
roll
properly,"
I
said.
It
is
nice
to
find
an
entomologist
with
whom
I
can
swear
and
talk
bawdy.
March
26.
A
Test
of
Happiness
The
true
test
of
happiness
is
whether
you
know
what
day
of
the
week
it
is.
A
miserable
man
is
aware
of
this
even
in
his
sleep.
To
be
as
cheerful
and
rosy-cheeked
on
Monday
as
on
Saturday,
and
at
breakfast
as
at
dinner
is
to--well,
make
an
ideal
husband.
...
It
is
a
strange
metempsychosis,
this
transformation
of
an
enthusiast--tense,
excitable,
and
active,
into
a
sceptic,
nerveless,
ironical,
and
idle.
That's
what
ill-health
can
do
for
a
man.
To
be
among
enthusiasts--zoologists,
geologists,
entomologists--as
I
frequently
am,
makes
me
feel
a
very
old
man,
regarding
them
as
children,
and
provokes
painful
retrospection
and
sugary
sentimentality
over
my
past
flame
now
burnt
out.
I
do
wonder
where
I
shall
end
up;
what
shall
I
be
twenty
years
hence?
It
alarms
me
to
find
I
am
capable
of
such
remarkable
changes
in
character.
I
am
fluid
and
can
be
poured
into
any
mould.
I
have
moments
when
I
see
in
myself
the
most
staggering
possibilities.
I
could
become
a
wife
beater,
and
a
drug-taker
(especially
the
last).
My
curiosity
is
often
such
a
ridiculous
weakness
that
I
have
found
myself
playing
Peeping
Tom
and
even
spying
into
private
documents.
In
a
railway
carriage
I
will
twist
my
neck
and
risk
any
rudeness
to
see
the
title
of
the
book
my
neighbour
is
reading
or
how
the
letter
she
is
reading
begins.
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