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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
297
December
21.
This
continuous
preoccupation
with
self
sickens
me--as
I
look
back
over
these
entries.
It
is
inconceivable
that
I
should
be
here
steadily
writing
up
my
ego
day
by
day
in
the
middle
of
this
disastrous
war....
Yesterday
I
had
a
move
on.
To-day
life
wearies
me.
I
am
sick
of
myself
and
life.
This
beastly
world
with
its
beastly
war
and
hate
makes
me
restless,
dissatisfied,
and
full
of
a
longing
to
be
quit
of
it.
I
am
as
full
of
unrest
as
an
autumn
Swallow.
"My
soul,"
I
said
to
them
at
breakfast
with
a
sardonic
grin,
"is
like
a
greyhound
in
the
slips.
I
shall
have
to
wear
heavy
boots
to
prevent
myself
from
soaring.
I
have
such
an
uplift
on
me
that
I
could
carry
a
horse,
a
dog,
a
cat,
if
you
tied
them
on
to
my
homing
spirit
and
so
transformed
my
Ascension
into
an
adventure
out
of
Baron
Munchausen."
With
a
gasconnade
of
contempt,
I
should
like
to
turn
on
my
heel
and
march
straight
out
of
this
wretched
world
at
once.
December
22.
Gibbon's
Autobiography
This
book
makes
me
of
all
people
(and
especially
just
now)
groan
inwardly.
"I
am
at
a
loss,"
he
says,
referring
to
the
Decline
and
Fall,
"how
to
describe
the
success
of
the
work
without
betraying
the
vanity
of
the
writer....
My
book
was
on
every
table
and
almost
on
every
toilette."
It
makes
me
bite
my
lips.
Rousseau
and
his
criticism
of
"I
sighed
as
a
lover;
I
obeyed
as
a
son,"
and
Gibbon
on
his
dignity
in
reply
make
one
of
the
most
ludicrous
incidents
in
literary
history.
"...
that
extraordinary
man
whom
I
admire
and
pity,
should
have
been
less
precipitate
in
condemning
the
moral
character
and
conduct
of
a
stranger!"
Oh
my
giddy
Aunt!
Isn't
this
rich?
Still,
I
am
glad
you
did
not
marry
her:
we
could
ill
spare
Madam
de
Staël,
Madam
Necker's
daughter,
that
wonderful,
vivacious
and
warmhearted
woman.
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