I keep on wondering what to do, there is too much to read, I didn’t read the newspaper today, and still I did not stop reading. I’ve read Louise MacNiece, he is a very difficult poet to get along with, the reason I find him difficult is, he uses imagery which is not immediately recognised, and one has to go over what he has written, my favourite poem is The Reflection. I found it in an anthology. I did not think much about his collection. I like Auden better, he is modern, but MacNiece has style and vim, which, if he had jazzed himself up and became less sober, and more autobiographical, would have helped him. I had no idea that Auden had been gay until I read his poems, but MacNiece, I don’t know anything about him, and it is confusing me that I can read a whole book, and not be revealed anything, is that what, as poets we should do?

I’ll be reading on the March 13th. I hope it will goes well and I have less to worry about, but then, what do I do all day but go to classes and try to write, sometimes my health gives out, and sometimes a terrible dislocation grips me. I have nearly written the essay and I am going to hand it in on Tuesday.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and I probably won’t get a card. I have grown used to not being loved, and being a stinking idiot when it comes to men. The voice is there and while I type it types too, it won’t put ideas into my head but suicide is not far off. I am tired of it all and wonder what to do.

My hair is white and I feel a burden on my soul, a terrible loneliness grips me, and I want to be someone more jolly, calm, and serene. I guess if it was not for my illness I could have done much with my life, but I did sell a painting. The school fees are nearly due and I had a row with mother the other day about it. She says I spend money like water, yet she was on the phone for one hour, and has sent a hundred pounds to my aunt who has just been widowed. It was my idea but I am not the only one who spends money.
My cousin works and apparently they don’t pay him. What a jerk, he has joined the club of fools and beggars. I am not even worried he’ll survive, it is auntie who won’t. I hope she gets the money. I now do some voluntary work teaching the homeless how to write.

16-02-03

Already it is after February, and the months are speeding along in a busy enclave of work and food. Ziynet and Belgin came, Ziynet with her family. Little Ted wanted to stay and sleep in our bed, but they have now gone to their own house, and our house now is so quiet, I want to cry. Dad’s bleeding has set me thinking about the nature of life and death. I wonder what death is like, it is an end, and a start of being dead, but that is all that is healthy to know.

Sadiye phoned, a cousin who lived with us, until I had had enough of her. She used to come every year and stay several months, then I had the bright idea of refusing her, and she went elsewhere and slept on floors. Now her sister is marrying a chemist researcher and they are coming to gloat. What petty things females are with their small minds!