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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
31
August
20.
Had
an
amusing
letter
from
my
maiden-aunt
F----,
who
does
not
like
"the
agnostic
atmosphere"
in
my
Academy
article.
Poor
dear!
She
is
sorry
if
I
really
feel
like
that,
and,
if
I
do,
what
a
pity
to
put
it
into
print.
Then
a
Bible
reference
to
the
Epistle
to
the
Romans.
Xmas
Day.
Feeling
ill--like
a
sloppy
Tadpole.
My
will
is
paralysed.
I
visit
the
Doctor
regularly
to
be
stethoscoped,
ramble
about
the
streets,
idly
scan
magazines
in
the
Library
and
occasionally
rink--with
palpitation
of
the
heart
as
a
consequence.
In
view
of
the
shortness,
bitterness,
and
uncertainty
of
life,
all
scientific
labour
for
me
seems
futile.
1910
January
10.
Better,
but
still
very
dicky:
a
pallid
animal:
a
weevil
in
a
nut.
I
have
a
weak
heart,
an
enervated
nervous
system;
I
suffer
from
lack
of
funds
with
which
to
carry
on
my
studies;
I
hate
newspaper-reporting--particularly
some
skinny-witted
speaker
like
----;
and
last,
but
not
least,
there
are
women;
all
these
worries
fight
over
my
body
like
jackals
over
carrion.
Yet
Zoology
is
all
I
want.
Why
won't
Life
leave
me
alone?
January
15.
Reading
Hardy's
novels.
He
is
altogether
delightful
in
the
subtlety
with
which
he
lets
you
perceive
the
first
tiny
love
presentiments
between
his
heroes
and
heroines--the
casual
touch
of
the
hands,
the
peep
of
a
foot
or
ankle
underneath
the
skirt--all
these
in
Hardy
signify
the
cloud
no
bigger
than
a
man's
hand.
They
are
the
susurrus
of
the
breeze
before
the
storm,
and
you
await
what
is
to
follow
with
palpitating
heart.
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