I don't like 'diary entries'. I feel like when you stop (presumably because of death), those looking back on it could view it as a countdown to biting the dust, as Freddie would say. This morbid outlook is probably a result of reading 'The Kenneth William's Diaries'; the blotched ink stain on the page following his suicide the night of his final entry. Awful thought; fascinating man.
This is the final week. Possibly to be viewed as the start of my life. I'm incredibly fearful, but I feel that is just me as a person, full of anxieties. I've been saying, when asked, that I'm not sad about leaving, that I'm not upset that such a huge part, the biggest chapter, of my life is coming to a close. I think its quite the opposite. I feel so overwhelmed with emotion that I don't think I can physically display it. I'm just laughing and pretending everything is fine. I want to cry and scream all at the same time. Instead I sit listening to Frank and wonder what is actually going on in my brain. I wish I understood, then people wouldn't get funny with me when I don't know why I'm in a foul mood.
Tomorrow I end most of my 'routines'. NDP, PMD, KH (and even the despised CRS) are all going to impart their wisdom once more before we leave. Years of routine, finished. Petrifying. I don't know what to do with myself. I suppose that is a problem for the day.