My summer is coming to a close with thie entry in my journal:
Fragment: Girl riding (driving?) car looks into the car next to her—there a young boy gives her some sort of lusty look. She turns away embarrassed.
Idea for story: the lies people tell about themselves and what they reveal about their personalities, their hopes, their dreams. What does it mean that I seldom lie about myself but to deny what I’ve accomplished.
Story idea: “Θανατος”—A college student finds himself depressed by the world around him. He cannot enjoy himself in the same mindless way that those about him do. Turning inward, he finds that intellectual endeavors also afford him no relief. Finally he decides to attempt suicide but realizes taht he has not the will for that act. Why cling to life if life holds no joy? Does he find satsfaction? (I think not)
The last item here, I think, is a manifestation of the depression that would play an increasing role in my life over the coming months. I have a vague notion that even the first item in this entry has some autobiographical element to it: I have a very clear mental image of the scene, although it’s not entirely clear if it’s from the perpective of the boy or the young woman.
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