Intimations of mortality

Sunday, December 9th., 97, Chiltern Court, London.

I like it here. I have been sleeping better than I have for ages. Unfortunately the same can't be said for Dorothy. She claims that vibrations from the underground (we are above Baker Street station) are disturbing her at night. She told Frank Swinnerton that the vibrations "go right up my rectum". Interesting turn of phrase. I regret to say that, in my opinion, she is oversensitive; highly strung. To be honest it is getting on my nerves. She was the one who spotted this flat in the first place, and now she wants to move. Something is being done here every day to make the place more to our liking, but things always remain to be done. I hesitate to estimate the cost. I've only had one or two bills yet. The affair is like a diarrhoea of money.


I have been thinking about mortality and Prospero's words in Act 5 of "The Tempest" came to mind:

Go quick away: the story of my life

And the particular accidents gone by

Since I came to this isle. And in the morn

I’ll bring you to your ship and so to Naples...

And thence retire me to my Milan, where

Every third thought shall be my grave.

I had to look it up to get the words right. But they speak to me now, in my sixties, as never before. How quickly my life seems to have passed. And I find myself thinking often about death. Not in a self-pitying, negative sort of way; I don't fear death, it is the dying that bothers me a bit. I feel that I could face death with equanimity if only I could be sure that it would be pretty quick. It is the thought of steady decline, failing health, brain softening and eventual dependance that upsets me when I think about it. My intention is to take poison when I feel the time is right, but how to judge? And should I tell my family? I have told them of my intention but I'm not sure they believe it. The question is whether or not I should tell them the time has come, or just do it. I think overall the latter is best.

Last week I was at Ethel Sands' and had a great pow-wow with Virginia Woolf. Other guests held their breath to listen to us. Virginia is alright (as high-brows go!). She taunted me with believing her to be 'refined'. Well, if she isn't refined then I don't know who is.