The advantage of working at a university lies very basely in the idea surrounding what the students offer. I have found that there are bright and superb students abounding here at William & Mary’s, but more importantly are the scavengers, the harbingers, the bookworms, the illicit. A student delivered me a small tote of Brown Beauty for me to revel in. He expressed he could tell how exhausted I looked, and he figured I could use a little relaxation. I am glad of it. It isn’t much, but heroin is not cheap. He is not even a student of mine, yet, I predict we will develop a close bond.

On another side of the spectrum, Miss Lucille Devereaux has declined to see me this week due to “feminine matters.” This is all for the better. I have no desire to be with a woman when she bleeds, nor should any man. It’s filthy.

Classes prove to be disheartening overall, and I have more than once found myself with an empty flask much sooner in the day than I had expected. This last Friday, I had to refill it twice before dinner. Lucille commends me on being a very classy drunk. I have asked her repeatedly not to call me that, but she won’t listen. I don’t know how I will get that word from her vocabulary. Professor Echols down the hall drinks twice as much as I do and manages to still teach Victorian Literature and Africkan Studies, two classes that require the most attentive attitudes.


A letter from Mother today. She tells me she is ill, which is no wonder. The mad woman still spends her evenings sitting on the front porch smoking cigars and talking to her plants. A long time ill she has been, I say. Her letter is more illegible than normal, so I suspect she is finally feeling the wear of the years. Again, no wonder in my mind that her age will hit her hard.

She informed me that Dr. Milliard died this last August. Those who one day uncover my journals and find this entry should note that Dr. Milliard was a fine osteopath in Cambridge, but a drinking man with an affectation for young women. My mother still holds him high on his pedastal even after the way he treated my father in his dying years. Would that time were the great healer in this case, but I suppose old habits are hard to break. I find myself more and more tied my habits and routines as the years pass, so why should not my own mother, my own flesh and blood, God save her.

Word has also reached me that my doctor will not be in town for my routine appointment, which worries me. Classes full of hooligans call for the ailments I rely on for daily activity. I will have to work extra hard this week to procure both funds and time to obtain more chlorpromazine before next Wednesday.

Overcast, cold for September. There was a large cloud mass moving in last night just before sundown. It nearly looked like snow. I pray that we are not doomed to an early winter. One year of that in a lifetime is quite enough. My office is cold, but I will not start a fire this soon. I refuse it.

Classes have begun. I am teaching one section of Historical Analysis, two sections of Greco-Roman History, and one section of World Geography. They are basic courses, and I feel slighted by Dean Duncan for his unwillingness to allow me to teach older students. However, he was gracious enough to allow me to supervise the graduate students in the department again this year, even after what happened last year. I have not met with the graduates for this year, but my hopes can only be so high as to wish for some like last year’s crop. Those were impeccable students, truely insightful scholars. It was a joy to work with them.

My first class today was a near blunder. Two of the students entered the classroom quite inordinately, loudly. I silenced them, but found myself silencing them over and over throughout even the first class. This will not do. I must speak with the Department Chairman about this. Such behavior! Such language!

I have only one more class today before I am free to my research. I will be glad of that reprieve.