I need to be alone sometimes. I would never dare confess it to Michele, I’d be afraid of upsetting him, but I dream of having a room all for myself. Even a maid who works all day without stopping says “Good night” and has the right to shut herself in a room, in a pantry. I’d be content with a pantry. But I can’t remove myself, ever, and only by giving up sleep can I find time to write in this notebook. If, when I’m at home, I interrupt what I’m doing, or at night, in bed, I stop reading and stare into space, there’s always someone who kindly asks what I’m thinking about.
