October 4th, 1972

“Discontent with work, vaguely but regularly saddened by the gorgeous weather– sentiments not wholly lacking in charm, meanwhile the weeks slide by like a funeral”

8:05

Sitting at my desk– alone in the office.

Thank God at least that this monotonous work occupies 8 hours out of my day– and that getting ready and getting to and from occupies another hour or so– and thank God there’s a library I can go to at night to waste my time until 9:00 o’clock– and thank God that I can sleep the rest of the time.

This morning I’m nauseous– I also feel gritty and shabby and suicidal. 

Yes, my dear– suicidal–

that old cliched state of depression.

Fuck– writing only intensifies my mood.