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Today, I’m completely down. The {{LJ:sup}} depression came on last night after rereading the journal for the day and being struck forcibly by the fact that it all seemed far less profound and much more “gushy” than I had thought. Particularly the enthusiasm about having my ass whipped. In bed last night that seemed really ''de trop''. And today, I regret the note about Bob,{{LJ:Lindner}} although of course it served its purpose. I vented the spleen I felt, and today I like him as much as ever. But will he like me? The balance between obeying one’s swings and social consideration is of course the great difficulty.

Anyway, there is a difference. Because I expected the depression, because I did not try to fight it off, it was actually very mild, and this morning on six hours of sleep I feel calm and in a good mood. It’s a little sad perhaps to be back in the world with its slow wasteful pace, but on the other hand I recognize a peculiar thing about writing. It’s almost a law. The more depressed I am while I write, the better is the quality. The more enthusiastic while I write, the worse the quality. It is almost as if I have to express myself through intense sup resistance in order to give texture, and ergo absorb the sup beating. Which means that for good sustained writing I will have to stay off Lipton’s. Unless I try writing quick wild first drafts on L-1 and L-2, and then reworking them calmly. Well, there’s nothing new in all this.

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[[Category:February 22, 1955]]

Lipton’s Journal/February 22, 1955/657 - Revision history

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