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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
68
"Do
stop
watering
those
damned
plants,"
I
exclaimed
at
last.
But
he
went
on.
I
exclaimed
again
and
out
of
sheer
ridiculousness,
in
reply
he
proceeded
to
water
the
cabbages,
the
gravel
path,
the
oak
tree--and
me!
While
I
writhed
with
laughing.
May
27.
By
the
Sea
Sat
upon
a
comfortable
jetty
of
rock
and
watched
the
waves
without
a
glimmer
of
an
idea
in
my
mind
about
anything--though
to
outward
view
I
might
have
been
a
philosopher
in
cerebral
parturition
with
thoughts
as
big
as
babies.
Instead,
little
rustling
dead
leaves
of
thoughts
stirred
and
fluttered
in
the
brain--the
pimple
e.g.
I
recollected
on
my
Aunt's
nose,
or
the
boyishness
of
Dr.
----'s
handwriting,
or
Swinburne's
lines:
"If
the
golden-crested
wren
Were
a
nightingale--why,
then
Something
seen
and
heard
of
men
Might
be
half
as
sweet
as
when
Laughs
a
child
of
seven."
I
continued
in
this
pleasurable
coma
all
the
afternoon
and
went
home
refreshed.
May
29.
Have
returned
to
London
and
the
B.M.
My
first
day
at
the
M.
Sat
at
my
table
in
a
state
of
awful
apathy.
At
least
temporarily,
I
am
quite
disenchanted
of
Zoology.
I
work--God
save
the
mark--in
the
Insect
Room!
On
the
way
home,
purchased:--
Peroxide
of
hydrogen
(pyorrhœa
threatened).
One
bottle
of
physic
(for
my
appalling
dyspepsia).
One
flask
of
brandy
for
emergencies
(as
my
heart
is
intermittent
again).
Prussic
acid
next.
Must
have
been
near
pneumonia
at
R----.
Auntie
was
nervous,
and
came
in
during
the
night
to
see
how
I
was.
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