8/26
College at last! The long days of summer (and working under my father’s merciless thumb!) have gone, and finally some freedom. Harvard is stunning in August. The campus is alive with energy. Already (and it has been 3 hours I’ve been here now), I’ve been invited to three separate mixers. I’m glad I brought plenty of clean pressed shirts! Having moved into the dorms I have just now met my roommate T. He seems like a nice enough fellow if a little quiet. He spent the afternoon meticulously ordering, than reordering his bowties in the closet, arranged (I think) first by size, then formality (formal-informal), before finally settling on color. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll warm up soon.
9/7
Well, Harvard life has been all I thought it would be and more. Between my first year course work and social mixers each night, I must say my head has been pounding since I got here. Had a strange disagreement with my roommate T, who for some reason conspiratorially accused me of using some of his toothpaste, which I did not. He sulked about this a good deal before removing his toothpaste from its normal position on his shelf and hiding it under his bed. Later I asked him if he was fine and he said yes, but at night I heard him muttering once again in his sleep about the collapse of western values and how he doubted Donne ever suffered such indigenous treatment. I invited him out to a get together with some of the boys, promising there would be some interesting women he might want to talk with, but he balked at the idea immediately, faking a stomach ache.
9/23
The toothpaste fiasco has blown over, but now T insists on speaking to me only in old French which I can barely understand. Whenever I express confusion T gets this smart-ass grin and then switches to Greek. He’s certainly a brilliant fellow though I find the impulse to punch him in the face at times overwhelming.
10/21
Another exciting adventure in my life with T. I brought a girl back to the room—a sophomore with a body like you wouldn’t know. I wanted to show off my collection of Equestrian trophies and lend her a copy of my Harry Lauder phonograph. Upon seeing her, T let out a squeak as if there was a mouse in the room, and immediately hid in the closet, claiming he needed to do some dusting. He remained in there for four hours after she left, refusing to come out until I bribed him with a piece of chocolate. He has quite a sweet tooth.
11/4
As finals pop up on the horizon, I find myself busier than ever. The stress is made worse by the latest tiff with T. He had written a poem and wanted my impression on what he wrote. I told him it was interesting, though I wasn’t sure if I understood what he was trying to accomplish. He claimed I had no appreciation of the larger poetic tradition in which he was bravely forging forward. I told him as a student of Geology poetry really wasn’t my thing and that was just one man’s opinion. He proceeded to hold his breath for 3 minutes before passing out. When I finally got him to come to, he repeated the process . This went on for several hours until I calmed him down with chocolate milk and berries. For the record, here is the poem. You be the judge:
I’m a cowboy
Yes, sir, I am
Yes, sir, I am a cowboy
Yes, sir, I am
I’m a cowboy
Yes, sir, I am
Yes, sir, I am a cow-ow-boy
12/1
Well, T had a date last night—miracle of miracles. I’m not sure who the poor victim was, but apparently it didn’t go so well as he was home and in bed by 7:20 (his plan was to meet her at the “Oyster Shuck,” for dinner and drinks at 7). Now all day he’s been moaning, “December is the cruelest month.” I offered him chocolate which he refused, rebuffing me in German or maybe Russian. That seemed to cheer him up as he began giggling uncontrollably until, at last, I broke down and punched him in the nose.
12/2
Apologized to T this morning but he would not look me in the eye. He handed me a list of his grievances, written in indecipherable Latin Hendecasyllabics. Punched him again in the nose.
12/3
Approached T with every intention of apologizing further, but just looking at that smart-ass with his damn bow tie got me started again and I immediately punched him in the nose. He now has spent the better part of the day and night locked in his closet with his notebooks and toothpaste.
12/7
By order of the Dean of Student Affairs, I’ve been ordered to withdraw from Harvard at semester’s end for hitting a student. Apparently that prick T has some kind friends. As a fitting piece of revenge, I stole the notebook he keeps hidden under his bed with his toothpaste. The notebook was primarily filled with cowboy poems and pictures of topless women. The toothpaste was wintergreen.
Tags: diary of t.s. eliot, High Art
This is funny.