I cannot bear to read or write anything about Kafka today which I feel terribly about. But 'guilt is a wasted energy' (?) I was told yesterday, so this is at least mildly constructive in the scheme of things.
Post- it notes are far too garish but they are dotted about my room and in pages in various acrid colours, I should like to burn them, because I have never been consistent enough to write on every single sheet in a pad, which is either a terrible reflection on my note-taking/list making, or the Post-its seem to be setting me too much homework. I have nine books I have not completed lying on my bed around me being totally ignored.
I find it unsettling how I can feel so warm and kind but within one nanosecond of a linger upon a thought I am venomous and spitting acid. The remedy for this is more sleep, continuous hibernation, (and why not follow the routines of Kafka if he is to be the most important of my foci until May?) I wish I could eat, drink and move in the circles necessary to make this degree my entire life but instead I spoil myself, I love self-inflicted pure decadence and then despising myself for it, until out of sheer spite and anxiety I do it again.
After today I will stop trying to work in bed. It is far too tempting.
Yesterday I watched 'Tyrannosaur'. It was a very hard film to watch, as I am particularly sensitive to animal cruelty and, frankly, I do not like imagining any woman being rendered barren because their husband raped them with broken glass. Paddy Considine scares me quite a lot, because his films are so startling and brutal which is strange because his face is so sweet and young.
This is what I am listening to, on repeat. The album that is. If I could work out how I'd put it all in this post.
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