Monday January 6
Perhaps the important thing about M. Hindley is her desire to dominate, perhaps to cause
pain as well, because it gives her pleasure. Psychology is not really necessary.
By psychology I mean a causal psychology (as opposed to diagnostic labeling). And
some I suppose would be needed in her case – but as to the rest –
Perhaps the future belongs to the Greta Thunbergs. To those for whom psychology is
a minimal need.
Perhaps I need to learn to do the same myself.
Tuesday January 7
I often mistake impulse for intuition. Or freedom.
Saturday January 18
I keep rechecking the date as I can't believe 11 days have gone by since I last wrote
here. Every year at the beginning of the year I remind myself to remember the days,
to slow time down if I can. And maybe I can in a way, if I can remember to write here
a little more often.
Treat's yowling downstairs. He recently became sexually mature, and he yowls sometimes
like a female in heat. Lizzie is on my lap, pushing up against my hand as I write . . .
And problems continue at work, problems with Cilla, who went home early twice and missed work
altogether twice these last two weeks. I treated her coldly today. Cilla, who is,
I think she told me once, both bipolar and
mildly schizophrenic. She
almost always seems anxious and sad – or rather, when she's
at rest she appears
anxious and sad. A melancholic figure, whenever she turns inward. Standing at the
counter where she works or squatting on the floor. Otherwise she's jumpy; more than
nervous she's startled by even the smaller noises, or by the sudden appearance of someone she
wasn't expecting even though she'd been working with them all day. Not stupid at all;
in fact I think she's rather bright, though I imagine the workings of her mind might be
difficult for the uninitiated to follow. She smiles to herself a lot. I think
she's like a princess in a tower, guarding the key. She has three kids, two of whom
she tells me have some form of autism. Is a
push-over (her word) when it comes
to her partner, a woman named Frankie but whom she mostly calls
Frankie's 40, has bad teeth, a shaved head, dresses like a teen-aged boy and wants, imo,
to force Cilla to either quit her job or get fired. Leaving Frankie nothing to do but
free-load and loaf. She's the reason Cilla keeps missing work. Frankie just
doesn't want to be tied to the kids.
So that's who I gave the cold shoulder to today. Because I'm unhappy with her
specifically and because I'm unhappy with the poor quality of help we've been getting down
at the store lately more generally. And because I'm constantly disappointed to witness
the total lack of moral strength these people show when it comes to following a work
ethic. Which this new generation, in my experience at least, doesn't seem to have.
Frankly, I'm tired of having to clean up after them. After fifteen years of it, I'm
So I was cold to Cilla, who as a result looked anxious and sad all day, and now I feel
bad about it. Came home from work, ran out to the store for cigarettes, got a little
Crime of Passion, the Barbara Stanwyck movie. Odd little
film. It's about a woman who marries a small-town cop out of lust, basically; then
quickly grows to feel trapped, partly by her environment (both immediate and more
generally – societally – speaking), and partly by her own choices, all of which
are fueled by thwarted ambition. Eventually she turns violent, both towards the outer
world and towards herself, in equal measure. A rather desperate little film.