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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
32
February
3.
For
days
past
have
been
living
in
a
state
of
mental
ebullition.
All
kinds
of
pictures
of
Love,
Life,
and
Death
have
been
passing
through
my
mind.
Now
I
am
too
indolent
and
nerveless
to
set
them
down.
Physically
I
am
such
a
wreck
that
to
carry
out
the
least
intention,
such
as
putting
on
my
boots,
I
have
to
flog
my
will
like
an
Arab
with
a
slave
"in
a
sand
of
Ayaman."
Three
months
ago
when
I
got
up
before
breakfast
to
dissect
rabbits,
dogfish,
frogs,
newts,
etc.,
this
would
have
seemed
impossible.
February
6.
Still
visit
Dr.
----'s
surgery
each
week.
I
have
two
dull
spots
at
the
bottom
of
each
lung.
What
a
fine
expressive
word
is
gloom.
Let
me
write
it:
GLOOM....
One
evening
coming
home
in
the
train
from
L----
County
Sessions
I
noticed
a
horrible,
wheezy
sound
whenever
I
breathed
deep.
I
was
scared
out
of
my
life,
and
at
once
thought
of
consumption.
Went
to
the
Doctor's
next
day,
and
he
sounded
me
and
reassured
me.
I
was
afraid
to
tell
him
of
the
little
wheezy
sound
at
the
apex
of
each
lung,
and
I
believed
he
overlooked
it.
So
next
day,
very
harassed,
I
went
back
to
him
again
and
told
him.
He
hadn't
noticed
it
and
looked
glum.
Have
to
keep
out
of
doors
as
much
as
possible.
The
intense
internal
life
I
lead,
worrying
about
my
health,
reading
(eternally
reading),
reflecting,
observing,
feeling,
loving
and
hating--with
no
outlet
for
superfluous
steam,
cramped
and
confined
on
every
side,
without
any
friends
or
influence
of
any
sort,
without
even
any
acquaintances
excepting
my
colleagues
in
journalism
(whom
I
contemn)--all
this
will
turn
me
into
the
most
self-conscious,
conceited,
mawkish,
gauche
creature
in
existence.
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