For fuck's sake, why do men do this? Why can't they just let the past be the fucking past without ascribing some misplaced significance to it? If I were to create a special place for all the men that I've dated, there would be no room left for the one who is truly special (whoever that may be).
The angst continues. Wouter's text message did not help. It is one of those days when I feel like going home to my room in Singapore and hiding under my blanket until such time as I am ready to face the world again. Unfortunately, I cannot alienate myself from the world today. There is formal dinner. I even invited John. I have to decorate the hall at 5pm. I am shit at hiding my feelings (i.e. I cannot hide my feelings) but I have no choice but to try my hardest at it.
What would truly be merciful right now is an early night, or some logical explanation for my feeling so angsty.
I should also add that I just came from a lunchtime lecture at the centre for international law on British war crimes committed during the Iraq War, by the professor who won the Orwell prize in 2013. The lecture was amazing, its subject bleak and dispiriting, so that may partly explain my bad mood. I've also just finished reading the new Barnes novel which is characteristically pessimistic about life. Sometimes, such as now, I cannot keep the disappointment at bay. The disappointment, that is, that life eventually manifests, in which manifestation my perennial cowardice has played a central part.
I don't know what I'm doing with this PhD. I keep thinking that I should feel more than the marginal or minimal passion that I feel for it; but I can't force feelings that don't exist. NEB said in the closing part of his email that I should take charge of my life and not merely go with the flow. That is all well and good, but is it also not true that there comes a point that forecloses possibilities of backtracking once it is passed? I think I've passed that point. But sometimes, it remains a struggle to make peace with it.