||[Jan. 16th, 2012|05:22 pm]
Mother and Father's anniversary. I will send them a book or a bottle of brandy.|
Boredom and depression. It is strange that I can only feel such emotions when utterly alone. Sometimes they can be set off by dreams, and I will be deeply morose for a short while. And afterwards, long tracts of nothingness, horrible soulless half-life.
I have been drinking coffee, in place of wine. Wine makes me cry, and talk in false tones.
It is chilly outside, here in the Dandenong Ranges. I have been shut indoors all day, I will not go out. The only person I care about is my childhood love, there is no room, it seems, for any living person besides her, who I love utterly love and cannot imagine aged or dead.
Why is the pain of love so sweet, as Petrach knew?