2020





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 dude.  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 just tired.

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 stoned.  Watched 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.



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