![]() ![]() ![]() The vain, arrogant, scathing writer became a vulnerable woman, conflicted about her own expectations and with an almost obsessive need for validation. Working soothed and provided purpose to an otherwise futile reality, it gave her a reason to be.īut when the last page was done, revised, rewritten and typed out, almost manically, the vertigo of impending emptiness oppressed her, and incessant self-doubt erased all sense of wholeness or achievement. She became inebriated by the exuberance of words and was carried away by the enthusiasm of getting closer to the voice that would finally give a physical shape to her dispersed, hyperactive senses. She pushed herself to the limit, squeezed out her mind and existed fully only when she was writing. Virginia sat at her desk and wanted to condense it all into poetry and leave out whatever that was superfluous. These diary entries brim over with life, with hunger, with a passion that cannot be contained, with the conflicted need to absorb it all the lonely walks in the Sussex countryside, the visual and sonorous chaos of life in the city, of incessant travel, mental and otherwise, the unstoppable flow of time, the transience of things, the galloping rhythm of emotions, sensations and the simultaneity of memory, past and present in one’s conscience, the tedium of discussions and routine, the truth about daily life without embellishment. ![]()
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