March 22.
Had a letter from the Keeper of Zoology at the British Museum, advising me of three vacancies in his Dept., and asking me if I would like to try, etc.... So that Dr. ——'s visit to me bore some fruit.[1] Spent the morning day-dreaming.... Perhaps this is the flood tide at last! I shall work like a drayhorse to pull through if I am nominated.... I await developments in a frightfully turbulent state of mind. I have a frantic desire to control the factors which are going to affect my future so permanently. And this ferocious desire, of course, collides with a crash all day long with the fact that however much I desire there will still remain the unalterable logic of events.
April 7.
... How delicious all this seemed! To be alive—thinking, seeing, enjoying, walking, eating—all quite apart from the amount of money in your purse or the prospects of a career. I revelled in the sensuous enjoyment of my animal existence.
June 2.
Up to now my life has been one of great internal strife and struggle—the struggle with a great ambition and a weak will—unequal to the task of coping with it. I have planned on too big a scale, perhaps. I have put too great a strain on my talents, I have whipped a flagging will, I have been for ever cogitating, worrying, devising means of escape. Meanwhile, the moments have gone by unheeded and unenjoyed.
June 10.
Legginess is bad enough in a woman, but bandy legginess is impossible.
Solitude is good for the soul. After an hour of it, I feel as lofty and imperial as Marcus Aurelius.
The best girl in the best dress immediately looks disreputable if her stockings be downgyved.